Blood On The White Road
by Cryptic Mystic
Summary: 10 years post Oblivion Crisis the newly formed Colovial Committee wants to build a new road from Chorrol to Skingrad. Nothing is as it seems, people have thier own agendas, & deadly plots form in the shadows of the White Road. First post on
1. Chapter 1: New Friends and Grand Plans

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 1: New Friends and Grand Plans

Etzel Ferrer peered out of his window for the ninth time that morning from his breakfast nook. The grey old Breton was not sure if he was short on patience or was tiring of his self imposed isolation. The sun shined like it was Midyear but the cool winds rolling up the Strid River from the Abecean Sea alerted the land it was Frostfall. He made his home almost on the border of Cyrodiil and Valenwood after retiring from the Imperial City Engineer Corps. His experiences repairing the city after the Oblivion Crisis convinced him he was done with city life. There were too many people, too many demands, and too much aging infrastructure for him to enjoy life as much as he wanted. So he bought himself a plot of land on the quiet Valenwood border and built his home. The location proved very ideal as the Valenwood city of Arenthia was an easy journey from there. His home was fully decorated in the best Bosmer craftsman furnishings and fixtures.

He slowly turned away from the window and shuffled his slipper clad feet across his marble floor back to the breakfast table. Etzel walked with a slight hunch. The result of a construction accident in his younger years that he now paid for every morning. It was almost noon. Typically the pain in his back and legs would subside by then but lately it had persisted into the afternoon. It was from all of the farm work. He grew crops and raised sheep and chickens to live make a living from his isolated home. All of which required a lot of bending over and lifting early in the morning. Sometimes he would take his goods to a market in Skingrad whenever there was a surplus of food to trade for other items. While living in the city and working on clogged sewer lines he romanticized rural life in his day dreams of retirement. Now he understood the social aspects of city life masked how easy it was physically.

Etzel was ready to return. At least for a while. He was sure of that now. Perhaps he could patch up things with his ex wife Anna. He allowed the stress of his job tear apart their marriage. He was sure of that now too. Maybe he could even convince her this house would be a great place to spend winters. He sat down at the table with a groan and patted the large elaborately embossed leather bound book on his breakfast table. _And here is the key_, he thought. _If only Alastar would arrive sometime during this age of man._

Alastar Cummins was a traveling nobleman Etzel met on his way to Arenthia a few weeks ago. He grew up in Cheydinhal and was educated in the Imperial City. He traveled all over Tamriel as a trader and an adventurer. He was going to Vallenwood for a ritual hunt when Etzel met him. Alastar talked to Etzel about all of his journeys and dealings. He hobnobbed with knights, nobles, and royals one evening and partied with bawdy sailors, whores, and gamblers the next. To Etzel it seemed like Alastar was one of those personable people that dazzled others like moths to light. Although he was a little too flamboyant for Etzel's tastes, Alastar seemed to like him enough and he visited often baring gifts.

Alastar naturally had many strong personal connections to people in government and well moneyed families which was just the kind of thing that came in handy when doing something as political as Etzel's little project. Something he thought of on his way to Chorrol many years ago. His solitude afforded him the time to draft up the plans. He really never thought about it making him money until he desired to return to the city.

Etzel sipped some spearmint tisane tea that he grew and blended himself from his ceramic cup but it was cold. He pushed up from his chair with a grunt and went to the hearth. He poured some fresh water into the kettle and opened a special compartment he designed into his flue so the iron grate over the firebox could remain in place when he made hot tea. Inside the compartment was a tempered steel sliding rod with a hump in it for the kettle to rest on. He pulled the rod out, placed the kettle on it, pushed it back in, and closed the compartment. As soon as he sat back down with yet another old man grunt a knock came from the door. "Damn it Alastar," Etzel whispered, "one second sooner." Etzel shuffled his way to the front door and opened it for his friend, "Alastar my boy, come in! What is that on your back?"

The dark haired Breton carried a long bundle secured with straps on his back. He had to step in the door sideways, "Oh, just a little gift from my last trip to the Market District. Where can I set it down?" Whenever Alastar visited he wore the same brown shirt, brown pants, and rugged leather boots. He also traveled with a satchel slung across his chest.

"It's not a rug is it?" asked Etzel.

"It's a hand crafted embroidered Etonian carpet, Etzel," pleaded Alastar. "These are impossible to come by."

Etzel held his hands up, "Sorry friend. I didn't pay good money to have these marble and lacquered redwood floors covered up."

"But they get so cold in the winter. It will look just wonderful in front of the fireplace!"

Etzel pointed to his feet, "That's what the fur slippers are for." He sniffed the air for a second, "What is that?"

"It, uh, got a little wet on the trip over here."

"You came up the river this time?"

"Yes. I was in Anvil last night and met a Nord moving some goods to Skingrad on a longship. So I paid him to take me all the way up the Strid. It's actually less wilderness to trek through and you avoid all the bandits."

Etzel nodded, "They are getting more aggressive these days."

"And armed to the teeth! About the carpet, please use it. It will look splendid in here."

"Alright, I'll put it next to my bed where I put my slippers on. I don't want it near the fireplace where it could ignite. Set it over there by the wall."

"Excellent!" Alastar unfastened the rug and placed it along the baseboard on the wall closest to the stairs. He turned around and clapped his hands together once, "So is today the day?"

"It is indeed," replied Etzel. He handed the leather book to Alastar.

Alastar's eyes widened with anticipation, "My word! That is beautiful." He turned the book over in his hands, "Where did you get this done? Skingrad? Market District?"

"No, or course not. You can't get leather work that fine in Cyrodiil. I had that done in Arenthia."

"Ah, I see." Alastar opened the book and began leafing through the pages excitedly, "Oh Etzel, this is great. Your penmanship is as precise as your drafting. You even have cost estimates and everything. Oh! And look at these illustrations. They're exquisite. It's like walking through The Great Forest!"

Etzel beamed with pride. He had longed for that kind of recognition, "You think it will work? You really think they would go for it?"

"I'd bet my life on it, friend. They'd be stupid not to see this as a golden opportunity! It is very fortunate we met. Everything happens for a reason, I say."

Etzel shrugged and looked at the floor, "Well, t'was fortunate but it wasn't... destiny."

Without moving his head Alastar glanced up from the book and returned his eyes to the pages, "You surprise me, friend. A man of your age, wisdom, and experience not being able to see the plans laid before us from on high and down low. Seeing as how adept you are at making plans yourself. I think it is the height of tragic irony."

"Sometimes thing happen and sometimes people make things happen, Alastar. It's as simple as that."

"Ah, but what are the chances of the two of us Cyrodilic boys meeting in Valenwood."

"Just because something is improbable doesn't make it impossible. I was told things were impossible my entire career. But I made them happen."

"And you always did it without help?"

"Of course not, I had the resources of the Imperial City Engineer Corps. Planners, workers, builders..."

"Luck?"

"Some of that too," Etzel conceded.

"Inspiration; seemingly from no where?" Alastar raised his right eyebrow.

These discussions annoyed Etzel, "You always argue from the same closed logical loop."

"When I look around Nirn and consider all of its creation I come to the... what's that?" A low whine inside the hearth turned into a screech.

"The kettle, I have some of my signature spearmint tea. Would you care for some?"

"Hmm? Oh. That would be lovely."

The old man stood once again and retrieved the kettle from its special compartment. He moved it over to a counter beside the hearth where he prepared food and drinks. _Maybe Alastar was right_, Etzel mused. _Because I was getting tired of his destiny and divine plans talk._ Etzel could hear Alastar put the book down. He hoped that was not a sign that the conversation would continue. Etzel placed the loose leaf tea into mithril mesh infusers. He was about to pour the hot water when a sharp pain exploded in his chest.

He looked down to see the sharp end of a blade protruding just below his nipple. Etzel inhaled to scream. But that made the pain even worse so he only managed a pathetic wheeze. A blood stain on his shirt bloomed from the wound. He tried to move but was shoved up against the counter by somebody behind him. They pressed their full weight against his back and slowly cranked and jerked the dagger through his lung towards the center of his body where it met his heart. Etzel could feel his life leaving him as the blood from his heart was dumped into his lower chest cavity. He was so shocked and confused that he said with his last breath, "Alastar... Alastar run. Some... Somebody else... is here... here..."

Etzel was right. Somebody else was there and he killed both men. But where Etzel's death was an act of murder, Alastar's death was a decision to end the facade. Francois Motierre made the decision. He stood over the dead man's body holding the gory knife through a thick burlap sack. He pulled the sack over the blade and tied it off planning to dispose of it in the Strid River. He then returned to the table and pulled some large sheets of wax paper from his satchel. He thoroughly wrapped Etzel's book and tied it with leather straps before placing it in his bag.

Francois took a deep breath. _From when I leave this building on, there can be no mistakes_, he thought. He knew the moment Etzel mentioned his book that this was the opportunity he was craving. It was the one thing that would restore his life and his dreams of nobility. Francois had been hiding ever since he defaulted on his loan, contracted the Dark Brotherhood to fake his murder, and offered his own mother up as an offering to their goddess. But no matter where he went or under what identity he assumed after the ruse, he could not get his footing in the world again. Nobody wanted to invest in his ideas. Nobody trusted him to manage their wealth. Francois slowly realized he lacked anything unique that people wanted or needed. This, he knew, was how someone made _real_ money when they had no significant family wealth of their own. So he made the decision to steal somebody else's idea. But it had to be big and bold enough to bring in the money he wanted. Anything less was not worth the risk of pursuing it to the extremes he was willing to go.

Francois stepped over Etzel's corpse to look through his wine rack. He pulled out a bottle and read the label aloud, "_Tamika West Weald 415_. A fine year indeed." He turned to the dead body, "But don't you think a bottle of 399 is more fitting for the occasion?" He tossed the bottle over his shoulder and it broke open on the marble floor. "I think I'll hold off on the celebration until I reach Chorrol. I have a very important meeting to attend at my home coming. Old friend, its time to unwrap your gift."


	2. Chapter 2: A Contentious Conference

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 2: A Contentious Conference

Francois Motierre stood from the right end of the table and smoothed out his fine red silk and black suede doublet. Not to pull the garment back in place but to wipe the sweat from his palms before he passed out the pamphlets and map for his presentation. The case was presented in one of the Elder Council ante chambers around a long table that was used for many different occasions being so close to the main chamber and the kitchen. On his side of the table sat the christened five-member Colovial Committee chaired by his very own Countess, Arriana Valga in the center. Francois was there to represent the business interests of Chorol as the newly elected head of the Chorrol Chamber of Commerce. To his left, representing the interest of Chorol's nobility, was Rimalus Bruiant. Rimalus was alert and attentive during the proceedings. To the left of the Countess was Skingrad's noble representative, Lazare Milvan. Lazare exuded arrogance and appeared perpetually unimpressed by anything. At the moment he was fingering the feathered end of an expensive gold plated quill. On the far right end of the table was Gunder. There was no organization for the collective business interests of Skingrad. Somehow this not-so-bright Nord was chosen for the committee. As long as he remained silent yet jovial Francois reasoned there was little harm Gunder could do.

Francois walked to the other side of the table to hand the first copy of the material to Chancellor Ocato. "Thank you very much sir," said the Chancellor with a slight bow of his head. He wore a red satin robe with baroque gold trimmings.

Francois then handed the copies to the other attendants representing the imperial government: Manius Mocius was Lord Treasurer of the Exchequer, the man responsible for all of the tax collections and disbursements from the Imperial government. He wore a simple brown and burgundy tunic and a monocle. Manius was of Imperial nobility from one of the oldest families in the city. Vinicia Melissaeia, from the Imperial Office of Commerce, appeared to be annoyed with the inconvenience of attending the conference. Spuria Cominius was a female Bosmer and longtime friend of Ocato from his Battlemage days. Currently she was the Secretary of Interior. She sat to Ocato's left and seemed to lean into him ready to whisper something in his ear at a moment's notice. Major Servatius Quintilius was the Commander of the Sixth Legion which was responsible for security of the Black Road and the Gold Road to Skingrad's East gate. He listened with open ears and narrow, intense dark eyes.

Francois swallowed hard and began, "Esteemed Chancellor Ocato and honored dignitaries, my name is Francois Motierre. I represent the Colovial Committee. A newly formed small group of representatives from Skingrad under the uncannily wise rule of Janus Hasildor and my home of Chorol under the benevolent rule of Countess Arriana Valga." Francois bowed and gestured to the gleaming royal. She returned the gesture with a smile and a nod. "Chorol is a city surrounded by natural beauty and full of honest, hard working citizens. The only limits to its prosperity are those imposed by poor planning and neglect." He paused for a moment to gauge the audience's reaction. The only one that seemed angered was Spuria. She flexed her jaw muscles and shifted in her seat.

"Ages ago Cyrodiil's road system was planned around the remaining roads of the Ayleids. But these old paths were not engineered with our modern economic goals and means in mind. They needlessly wind through mountainous and hazardous regions of our land. They steer away from our main resources and do a poor job of efficiently connecting our cities. The Chorrol economy hinges almost exclusively on the Black Road. The Black Road runs from our south gate easterly through the most rugged terrain of The Great Forest to connect to the Red Ring Road. Nothing larger than a four-horse wagon can transverse the worst of it."

"The Orange Road which begins from our north gate, while resplendent with breathtaking scenery, is completely insufficient for commerce. It has no direct connection to any populations. Goods and people needing to be transported between Burma and Chorol will arrive sooner if they take the Silver Road to the Red Ring Road then connect to the Black Road than if they used the Orange Road."

"This is unacceptable. Chorrol is closer to the Imperial City than any other city in Cyrodiil and yet is more economically isolated than all other cities save for one. The Colovial Committee proposes that a new road be built between Chorrol and Skingrad." A few murmurs of surprise emanated from the Imperial representatives. Francois glanced at Countess Valga who smiled to assure him. "Please unroll the maps that you have been given."

The table undid the white ribbon around the scroll they were given and pulled the map out. The top boarder of the map was titled, "The White Road Project". It pictured the Imperial City, Chorrol, and Skingrad in great detail with special attention given to topography and roads. Francois placed a painting of the same map on an easel at the end of the table, "This new road will be known as the White Road. It will be the best engineered, the most efficient, the quickest built, and most accessible road in all of Tamriel." He produced a slender pointer from inside his doublet and touched it to Chorrol. "Just outside of the south gate is Weynon Priory and Odiil Farm. Between these two locations is a southward bend in Black Road. At this very point is a continuous mountain ridge that will carry our road all the way out of The Great Forest. Although its altitude is high, once on the ridge, elevation and slope change very little." Francois traced along the white line representing the new road. "It makes a very gentile curved path south that bows east all the way to this settlement called Brindle Home. There is ample land here and will be perfect for a garrison, an inn, or whatever is desired along the road. We then take another shorter curved path through the lightly wooded lowlands that wraps around the beautiful Shadeleaf Copes, and meets with the Gold Road at this bend near a silver mine. From there it's a leisurely trek to the east gate of Skingrad."

"If you'll please refer to your pamphlets," Francois replaced the map with a sign inscribed with the main points discussed in the document. He took a moment to reassess the audience. Ocato was deeply interested. He leaned forward on his elbows and took in every word. Manius looked dumbfounded. His mouth hung open slightly and his eye brows were raised as he tried to calculate the costs of the project in his own head. Vinicia could not care less about the presentation. She stared at the table and caressed the grain in the heavily varnished chestnut wood. Servantius had not changed his expression at all. Spuria quietly seethed with rage.

Francois continued, "Economic Benefits: Developing this road will spur greater inter-county commerce between Imperial City, Skingrad, and Chorol. Because the journey from Chorol to anywhere but Bruma is all down hill exporting is not a serious problem. But things that Chorol doesn't have access to, due to the windy and rugged Black Road, will be available for sale to us. Take fresh fish from Lake Rumare for instance. As it stands now if a fisherman or fish market wants to send fish to Chorrol they need to either salt it, which kills the taste, or have a mage freeze them, which adds to the weight and cost of transportation. Because the shipment can't be transported on a large cart there is not much profit in the second option."

"Security Benefits: The Black Road and Red Ring Road in the East are rife with bandits, goblins, and all sorts of unnatural creatures. Fort Virtue, Fort Empire, and the notorious Fort Ash are strongholds of such minions. We undertook a number of expeditions through the proposed path and compared them to an equal number of trips via existing roads and found even the undeveloped wilderness of the proposed White Road is safer than the paved way..."

"I seriously doubt that, sir," Servantius hissed. "My men heavily patrol the Black Road and fight everyday to keep it safe. There is no way it is more dangerous than any area of The Great Forest."

"I'm sorry, Major. But our study was thorough and meticulous. Surely reports from Legion Foresters in the area can corroborate this."

Servantius pointed his armor clad hand at Francois, "You're comparing apples and oranges, sir. There's nothing like a big stone road to signal the arrival of people. You put a road in the middle of that forest and everything will flock to it because that's easier than tracking scents and footprints."

Rimalus spoke for the first time, "It may be true that the road will attract more attention but it won't be enough to span the overwhelming disparity of attacks and encounters we recorded during those expeditions."

Chancellor Ocato stroked his chin, "What exactly is your evidence of that?" He stared directly into Francois's eyes.

Francois looked to the Countess. The Countess looked to Lazare who shrugged. She then nodded once back to Francois. Gunder just chewed at his finger nails. Francois pulled a palm sized, white bound book and flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted. "Over a two year period seventy four round trip expeditions were undertaken on both paths. The results were as follows: By the proposed White Road there is a forty three percent chance of falling victim to an attack or having an encounter with a hostile force at least once. On established roads you have a one hundred percent chance of at least one attack or encounter." Francois thought he could hear a curse underneath somebody's breath. "The chance of being attacked two or three times on the White Road is twenty two percent. Seventy eight for the established way. For four to six attacks it is just over five percent on the White Road and fifty seven for the old roads. More attacks than that and it's zero for the White Road." He paused to allow everybody time to absorb the information. "It's broken down several different ways. Out of all the encounters in The Great Forest, five entities were supernatural. If you took the forts away from the equation the old roads would be down to sixty percent for one attack... and really it just goes on and on." Francois waited for a reaction.

"Major?" asked Ocato.

Servantius wrung his hands together, "Sire...it is true that the forts are a problem. Especially Fort Ash. It's largely intact and literally straddles Black Road. It's known that any time we send a patrol through there a fight is to be expected. But through The Great Forest..."

"So do you believe these numbers could be correct?" asked Ocato.

"Sire, I... I can't refute them."

Ocato sighed, "I had no idea." He motioned to Francois, "Continue, please."

"Uh... right. Security. The only thing left to say on the matter is the road could speed up the movement of troops or refugees from a crisis in either city thus enhancing security. Next is the Morale of Cyrodiil. This one is a little more complicated than the others so please stay with me. The citizens of Cyrodiil suffered greatly ten years ago from the Oblivion Crisis. Many were killed, property and homes were destroyed, and we were an empire without an emperor. Very little has changed despite the callings of the citizens. The second reconstruction and recent destruction of Kvatch depleted the local area of material with which to rebuild. What has kept the Elder Council from beginning the process is cost. The two rock quarries the Empire uses for construction are in Cheydeinhal and Bruma. Neither of which are close to Kvach. Chorol can fix this. We have untapped rock quarries and ample building materials in the high lands. They haven't been touched because of the labor cost involved in removing them. Help us build this road and the savings in time and transportation will more than make up the difference. When the people see Kvach rise from the ashes yet again they will know that even without an Emperor our will is still mighty."

Ocato formed a steeple with his fingers and cocked his head sideways, "And there it is."

Spuria sneered, "Now you want to dictate policy to the Elder Council."

Having successfully predicted the reaction to their plan, Lazare decided to speak, "Or you could say we are alerting you to a very obtainable option for a very serious problem for Cyrodiil, my lady."

"Enriching your selves in the process, no doubt," Spuria shot back.

Lazare smiled widely, "We, like the government, are not a charity."

"And the treasury isn't the ever lasting teat for the counties to suckle at,"

Gunder slammed his meaty fist on the table and said, "I'm trying to figure out what business a secretary has here."

"I'm Secretary of the Interior, you dunce. My council has jurisdiction over land management, resource management, surveys, zoning, and national land marks like Shadeleaf. I could make the argument that the entire scope of this proposal falls within that jurisdiction."

"No," said Countess Valga in a flat tone to Spuria. "_You_ cannot make this argument."

Spuria looked at the Countess as if she had been slapped. She then looked to Ocato who returned her gaze but communicated nothing.

Ocato turned to Francois, "Mr. Motierre, how does building this road rebuild Kvatch? How exactly do you see this working?"

Francois tucked the small white book back into his doublet, "We already have enough masons trained. To get started we'll need a large crew of unskilled labor. We'd prefer they not be prisoners. Horses and other beasts of burden will be needed. The assistance of the Mage Guild and some of the resources of the Arcane University will be crucial. We'll also need some city engineers to oversee construction and solve unforeseen problems. Chorrol and Skingrad will provide the majority of the guards."

"Construction won't be completed in phases. It will be a continual process once the necessary resources are in place. We begin in the Colovian Highlands by excavating ground and clearing timber. All of which will be stockpiled for later use. All the flora and fauna that we remove will be kept in stasis by the Mage Guild. Perhaps even the sod. The dirt will be heavily fertilized by the horses we'll be using. At the same time, we'll need to dig sand out of Lake Rumare, dry it out on sight, and pack it for transport to Chorrol."

"Then we break ground. A special team has been assembled for the clearing process. Masons will be crafting the blocks and stones we need in the Colovian Highlands at the quarries. Laborers will begin digging a ditch on the ridge that will go all the way to the bedrock. This soil will also be stockpiled. The road foundation will comprise of packed sand from Lake Rumare and waste rubble from the quarries. A special cart with steel rollers on the bottom will use the weight of the finished stones to tamp the road bed. Concrete will be poured in ten feet sections to give the road greater ability to flex. Stones will be precisely laid from the tamping cart by a system of pulleys and armatures from the back."

"What we hope to achieve is a process where clearing of the forest, digging the bed, laying the foundation, and paving the road happens all at the same time. This will save money through efficient time use, strict divisions of labor that don't require retraining the same people for different jobs, and waste reduction. It will be a swift job indeed."

"Once the road is built all of that stockpiled timber, plant life, and soil will be immediately available to rebuild Kvatch. Pay us normal fixed rates for these materials, additional materials for construction, and a few other services. Guarantee that our two counties will be the recipients of sixty five percent of all disbursements for reconstruction and the noble and business communities of Skingrad and Chorrol have agreed to half-fold increases in tallage and ad valorem on inter county commerce until Kvatch is standing again."

"Bullocks!" spat Manius Mocius. "This is madness! There is no way they would agree to such a thing."

Lazare nodded, "I agree. It's sickening. But it is true tax man."

"You want to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the Oblivion Crisis with an inflationary crisis," said Manius.

"Hey, pal!" interjected Gunder. "Maybe you haven't stepped out of the shadow of your pearly white towers here but it's been tough out there. People are homeless and jobless all over Cyrodiil. Put these people to work on this and they'll have money to spend again. You can't tax'em if they're still broke."

"Mehrunes Dagon set foot on these very streets, Nord! Don't lecture me on hardships!"

"Gentlemen, please," said Ocato. "Lady Melissaeia, what do you think?"

"Chancellor I can't speak with authority here but I think the local businesses will be very excited," said Vinicia. "Moving goods to Chorrol and making a profit from it has always been a challenge. With a better road that can accommodate larger vehicles and trade convoys it should open many opportunities. The benefits of having people employed alone would be enough to garner their approval."

Ocato craned his neck towards Manius, "Lord Treasurer, do you believe the generated tax revenue won't be enough to pay for both projects."

"It may very well," said Manius, "but it will require the fulfillment of too many assumptions to do so."

"Please explain," said Ocato.

Manius pulled his monocle from his eye socket, "Let us start from the beginning. It assumes there are enough accessible rocks and minerals in the Colovian Highlands. It assumes that construction will be swift. It assumes these new methods will work. It assumes laborers will actually spend their money in a responsible manner. But chiefly, it assumes the other counties will not shriek in protest to the preferential treatment given to Chorol and Skingrad."

"A voluntary half-fold increase in taxes doesn't sound very preferential to us," said Rimalus.

"When Cheydinhal, Anvil, Leyawin, and Bravil calculate the taxes on nothing they will perceive a preference."

"Evenly distribute labor contracts and the remaining thirty five percent of the project to the other counties; they will be satisfied," said Rimalus.

Manius ignored the comment, "The point is if something fails the entire plan fails. With things being as tight as they are that could create a financial disaster for the Empire."

"Sire, if I may say something," said Servantius.

"Speak freely, Major," said Ocato.

"Some very important security details have been omitted from this presentation. To the west of this ridge is an extremely clannish and hostile settlement called Hackdirt. Anybody that openly associates with the Empire will, at the very least, be harassed by these people. On the eastern side of the ridge is a Daedric shrine dedicated to Molag Bal. Molag Bal isn't as overt as Mehrunes Dagon but, as the 'King of Rape' and 'Daedra of Discord,' I assure you he is dangerous beyond our imaginations."

"Most Daedric Shrines are close to roads in Tamriel, Major," said Francois.

"Only the cuddliest of the Daedric princes are _that_ close to the main roads, sir."

"True... but regarding Hackdirt, what do you think is responsible for their hostility?" said Francois with venom in his voice.

Servantius looked away in disgust, "You know not of what you speak...sir."

Spuria had been intently studying the pamphlet provided by Francois ever since her royal rebuke by Countess Valga. She looked up once it was clear the exchange between Servantius and Francois had frozen the conference with tension, "I have a question that relates to Manius's concern. In this document you state you want a road fifteen feet wide. Why must it be so wide?"

Francois shrugged, "So that wagons can pass each other without one stopping and moving to the side. Really all roads should be at least that wide."

"I see. In this pamphlet you say this project, assuming everything falls into place, will only last nine months once clearing starts."

"Yes."

"How in Oblivion, will you ever be able to clear your way through The Great Forest in less than two years with a fifteen foot wide road? That is acres upon acres of densely packed forest with gigantic trees." The Imperial representatives leaned forward in anticipation.

Francois, unsure of how to answer, looked to Countess Valga again. She quickly nodded her approval. Francois straitened up and spoke with confidence, "We have a team of special mages and a labor crew that has been trained to work with them."

"Mages not associated with the Guild?" asked Spuria incredulously. "Who are they then?"

"They are of the Flamma Vigoratus school."

Spuria threw her hands up, "Perfect! Bloody perfect."

"That's... not encouraging," said Ocato.

Servantius's eyes were wide with surprise, "Those pyromaniacs? Unbelievable."

Manius glanced around the table confused, "Flamma what? Who are these people?"

Spuria leaned over the table so she could make eye contact with Manius, "The Flamma Vigoratus was the biggest mistake Archmage Traven made during his short tenure. Long before he called for necromancy to be banned he knew he had to be prepared to defend against them. Necromancers are very potent mages. It made sense to seek out a force of even more potent, specially trained mages. He didn't have much hope the schools of Mysticism, Alteration, Illusion, and Restoration. So Traven vigorously reviewed the Destruction and Conjuration programs of the Arcane University and every guild hall in Tamriel; finding each one lacked a guarantee of success."

Spuria leaned back in the chair now that she had the attention of everybody, "Then, somehow, he came across an independent mage traveling Cyrodiil in search for a guild to join. His name is only known as Bogdana, a Dunmer from Morrowind. Bogdana boasted of his prowess and kept repeating that all of the Guildmagisters of Cyrodiil were intimidated by his power. He followed the Archmage's caravan for many miles while repeating his mantra in one form or the other. Eventually a young battlemage in the caravan believed Bogdana to be a threat and drew his sword. By the time the sword cleared the scabbard the blade was white hot molten slag. The battlemage lashed out with a silence spell with no affect. Without lifting a finger Bogdana immolated the battlemage completely in an instant. The Archmage's body guards hurried him away to safety but a few returned to retrieve the body of their fallen comrade. What they found was even more surprising than the attack. Bogdana had resuscitated the battlemage and was in the process of restoring his skin, hair, and eyes."

Manius reeled, "By the Nine!"

"The Archmage returned under protests of his own bodyguards and conversed with Bogdana. He was impressed by Bogdana's control and power. Once granted a chance to speak civilly Bogdana did so. Some time later Bogdana was invited to the University first as an advisor, then under some artificial title like 'adjunct instructor' or some other nonsense. The key to Bogdana's power, and eventually the Flamma Vigoratus school, is an unusually extreme form of training. Willpower, destruction skills, and restoration skills are honed through a regiment of self combustion and self healing."

"I'm sorry," said Manius, "self combustion?"

Spuria looked at the Colovial Committee. They were all stone faced. It was clear they knew this was their major weakness, "They alternately set fire to themselves and heal themselves. Theoretically it produces a mage that is the best of both offensive and defensive spells. Because both Restoration and Destruction are extensions of willpower it also theoretically produces a person of indomitable will and god-like endurance."

"That is utterly insane," said Vincia quietly.

"Well to make a long story short," replied Spuria, "when theory met practice that was the result... utter insanity. Four hundred apprentices and associates entered the initial, voluntary phase of the program. Out of those that failed or dropped out, only a handful went on to be successful mages. Less than ninety made it to the second phase which required a signed oath of commitment. These students were taken to a secret training camp somewhere in the Black Marsh under the sole supervision of Bogdana. Things were fine for a while but then horrible accidents that could not be kept quiet occurred. Kids burned themselves beyond their ability to heal their own wounds and sometimes Bogdana wouldn't be around to save them. Forest fires _in the middle of the swamp_. That was the standard fare for a while. But it culminated when Bogdana's star pupil flung herself into Silverfish River in the middle of the night and thousands of gallons of water immediately flashed to steam in an explosion that was heard all the way to Bravil. Needless to say, nothing of the girl was recovered. Traven gave Bogdana an ultimatum. Leave Cyrodiil forever and never take any apprentices or suffer for all eternity in suspended animation."

Servantius chimed in with his knowledge of the scandal, "Whenever there is an incident with a deranged individual using Destruction magic recklessly the watch captains of every city and county of Cyrodiil check their identity against a list of all Flamma Vigoratus students. Even to this day, most of the time, they are on that list."

"These mage's have clean records and are of stable mind," said Francois.

"At this juncture the proposal is moot," said Manius. "If its success is dependent on speed and that speed is dependent on this lot; the project is doomed to failure."

"I agree, sir," said Servantius, "furthermore, I want the names of these mages if they are operating in the Colovian and West Weald areas."

"Good people of the Imperial government," said Countess Valga. "I have met and dined with all four mages in question. I will personally vouch for their character and their sanity."

The table fell silent. It was obvious that the Countess was determined to veto any damaging objection voiced by the panel. Ocato finally said, "Very well. It is by my judgment that the proposal for the White Road has merit and should be heard before the Elder Council. The Elder Council will hold a hearing where your case will be presented and they will conduct an inquiry into its feasibility. Countess Valga, I will need a formal proposal to be drafted with all relevant facts and plans. Please have patience. The road to approval may be longer than the road you are proposing."

Ocato stood from the table, "Again thank you all very much. This conference is adjourned. I wish to have a private audience with the Countess. I've arranged for food and refreshment in the waiting room. Please avail yourselves of anything there and try to talk about something other than the proposal." The Imperial and Colovian representatives filed out of the antechamber. Ocato walked over to the Countess and sat beside her. He pulled two small flasks of Cyrodiilic Brandy from his robe and set one on the table in front of her.

"You read my mind sir Chancellor," Valga laughed. She unscrewed the top of the flask and unceremoniously swigged the sweet alcohol. She smiled as it warmed her from her tongue to her belly. "That was more contentious than what I had hoped."

Ocato sipped from his flask but did not make eye contact with the Countess, "I am curious, my lady, what will the story be?"

"Story, Chancellor?"

Ocato turned to the Countess. She smiled at him in a manner that he could only name as coy. She was working her charm on him... and he liked it. Of the seven viable counties of Cyrodiil, four of them were ruled by widowers and widows like Countess Valga. _Interesting how the widows seemed to stay unmarried longer than the widowers_, Ocato thought. "In the Black Horse Courier, my lady. You see, the average citizen of Cyrodiil will never hear what transpires behind these doors. The only way they learn of these events is through the stories we print in The Courier. Most people will never understand matters of economics, zoning, security, surveys, tallage, and the like no matter how much it may affect their lives. Some nobles and royals shall not either. But everybody understands stories. What will the story of the White Road be?"

"Ah, that story. I have yet to think much about it but I imagine headlines would say something to the affect: 'Elder Council reaches agreement to lay better road with Skingrad and Chorrol to rebuild Kvatch,' 'Full employment for Cyrodiil,' and 'White Road brings cultures and counties together.' I rather like the last one."

"Those are all very nice," Ocato nodded. "Much better than: 'Colovial Committee rejected,' 'Chorrol citizens displeased with Elder Council decision,' or 'Chorrol and Battlehorn militia reach security agreement.'"

Countess Valga's eyes narrowed at the Altmer, "Be wary of your words Chancellor. They border on slander."

"Have you begun unofficial diplomatic relations with Hammerfell?"

"We have a very good relationship with Battlehorn Castle and I believe they have good relations with Elinhir."

"Are you buying armaments from them?"

Countess Valga looked away for a moment then peered directly into Ocato's eyes, "You know I have seen members of the Fighters Guild and the city watch carrying some new weapons. My guess is they did, in fact, buy them at Battlehorn with their personal funds on the open market. If the Legion or the Elder Council is interested perhaps they should purchase some for themselves."

"The proliferation of powerful weapons and magical items is of growing concern to us. The political climate is very tenuous. Keeping a hold on the provinces is very difficult with Cyrodiil the way it is. It will be worse if violence breaks out and these arms are widely distributed."

The countess finished off her brandy in one large impolite gulp, "Aye Chancellor, you are correct. People are saddened by their losses, afraid for their safety, and bewildered by the Elder Council's inaction. But they've been amazingly patient, I think. They understand the difficulty in replacing an emperor whose bloodline was destroyed without a war. They remember, perhaps without much depth or understanding, we've been here before. Although they are not expecting you to pull an emperor out of a hat they are expecting something. The Council has given them nothing."

When Ocato did not react she continued, "You are afraid to do something because you fear whatever you do might be the wrong thing. Caution is admirable in governing but the Council must understand this kind of thinking will only work in sustainable situations. Not now."

Ocato sighed and slumped into his chair, "I wish the Champion were here. There is a man who knew no failure."

"Of course he did," scoffed Countess Valga. "You don't end up in an Imperial City prison cell without some kind of failure."

"But look at what happened after that. It would just be reassuring to have him here to look in on things for us. Has he been seen in Chorrol at all?"

"Not that I've heard. Two years after the Oblivion Crisis he sold his home and passed the mastership of the Fighter's Guild to Modryn. When was the last time you saw him?"

Ocato fanned out the long, slender fingers on his left hand, "Five years ago. We met in the Market District for breakfast. He said nothing about leaving or any plans. But as always there are stories of him appearing all over Cyrodiil. The last credible one the Council heard was a nine months ago from Bruma. A Legion patrol saw him heading to Cloud Ruler Temple."

"What did Jauffre say about his visit?"

"Nothing," Ocato said quietly. "He denied it."

"What? Then the Legionaries were mistaken."

"The Elder Council does not think so. And the Blades are loyal to the Emperor... not the Elder Council." Ocato did not tell the Countess that the Council was so paranoid at this development they were cobbling together a new covert intelligence organization from the Legion, mercenaries, city guards, diplomats, and even merchants. The new agencies first task was a report on the current whereabouts of the Champion of Cyrodiil. _The Elder Council has been doing things for the Empire_, Ocato thought. _But for the last ten years damage control is all we've accomplished. And that has been possible through much luck._


	3. Chapter 3: Adjournment

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 3: Adjournment

Both teams of representatives adjourned to the waiting room where a fine spread of food and beverages occupied the center. The Colovial Committee brought with it a large contingent of aids and servants for the Countess. The only person waiting for the Imperial representatives was a female Khajit member of the Exchequer. She brought a stack of forms for Manius to sign which he did while selecting snacks from the table. The table resembled a demilitarized zone between warring nations with enemies on either side biding their time until negotiations broke down. Gunder was the first to bridge the divide.

Gunder approached Manius at the table with his hands behind his back and said, "Hey there. I wanted to apologize for earlier. That wasn't nice of me at all."

Manius had just bitten into a crème filled pastry when Gunder greeted him. He turned to the Nord with the pastry at his lips caught off guard. He swallowed the bite without chewing and said, "Oh, that. No harm done, I say." White vanilla crème oozed out from the half eaten pastry and covered his fingers.

"Glad to hear it!" Gunder offered his hand to shake.

Manius fumbled for a napkin on the table to wipe the crème off his fingers. After wiping his hand clean he grasped the Nord's hand and tried to shake it as firmly as he could, "Not a problem, sir."

Gunder did not let go of the Altmer's hand. Instead he brought his other hand into view. In it was a two pint jug, "I have a little something here to start breaking the ice."

He looked at the young Khajit girl from his office. She smiled and turned to leave. "Oh no, I really shouldn't. It's still day time and must get back to the office before sun down."

"Come on. Have a drink with me." Gunder leaned in and lowered his voice, "Most people think having pointy ears means you can't hold your liquor. But I'm one of the few Nords that knows Altmers can pack'em away."

Manius scratched behind one of his elven ears a little flattered by the recognition, "Well it is true. Not many people know that. We are a magical people and being so, a good metabolism is always helpful."

"Alright!" said Gunder triumphantly. He grabbed two silver goblets from the table. His hands were so large he could hold both cups with one hand and pour from the jug in the other. A thick foamy dark amber brown liquid emerged from the bottle.

"So what are we drinking _this afternoon_?" asked Manius with some concern.

"A Nordic ale called 'Misty Mountain Top'. It's brewed in a monastery in Skyrim near Whiterun."

Manius swirled the foamy brew around in the silver goblet and sniffed deeply. "Wow."

"Forty proof," Gunder confirmed

Manius shrugged and took a long sip. He pulled back from the goblet smiling foam covered lips, "That's quite good. It's an interesting body." He took another eager sip, "I'm detecting a hint of... is that toffee I taste?"

Spuria Cominius cast her gaze across the room at Francois wishing she used fire balls the size of horses instead. She sat on a luxurious mahogany canapé upholstered in green velvet. Servantius sat next to her in a similar mood. She leaned close to him and said, "I don't like this at all. It is by far too risky."

"Agreed," said Servantius. "But ultimately it is not our decision." Servantius and Spuria fought together in the Temple District during Mehrune Dagon's invasion of Imperial City. He had deep respect for her commitment to the Empire. "Having said that I have a good mind to strap Frankie over there to the rack and ask him some pointed questions."

"Really?" asked Spuria. "You find him that suspicious."

"Something about being a city watchman for a while gives you an intuition about things. I feel he has a disregard for law. Not in an aristocratic way. Not in an activist way. But not in a hardened criminal way either. Criminals lack fear when they deal with men of uniform. This man is a scam artist of some kind."

"What did you think of his presentation?" asked Spuria.

Servantius sighed, "Traveling in Cyrodiil is not inherently safe at this time. Bandits are growing in strength and numbers. I know nothing of economics, government, and those things that were discussed. I admit I was lost through most of it. Maybe with more employment crime on the main roads will go down. But I don't trust anything that man says. He is playing with the numbers some how. When that road is built it _will_ attract more danger."

"I want to know how he got those numbers. Estimates, statistics, analysis, surveys... how did they pull off something that large without the Council knowing of it?"

"I knew they were sending out many expeditions from the patrols and the foresters. I filed it in a report four months ago. They were heavily armed ten man teams of city guardsmen. They even scouted the Hackdirt settlement several times. We thought they were contemplating an attack."

"But how did they keep it all a secret? The guards of each city belong to the Imperial Legion. We pay their salary. We also train them. Math and architecture aren't a part of the curriculum."

Servantius blinked, "You're right. They would tip us off if they were being used for something they weren't trained for. They should have told somebody. But they didn't."

"They weren't real guardsmen, Servantius," Spuria whispered. "They were imposters. I know it in my heart."

Servantius furrowed his brow, "Can you prove that in court? The proposal has been approved for Elder Council review, Spuria. You would also have to contend with Countess Valga. She wants this road very badly it seems."

Spuria took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "We need more information. These profit seeking buzzards circling the Countess Valga are only out for themselves. It used to be a man earned his audience with royalty through deeds of combat and valor. Bloody, sycophantic merchant class... they care nothing of the Empire. They want to carve it up in pieces and spend the rest of eternity trading them back and forth for fees. Before we invest the treasury's precious little money, destroy thousands of acres of sacred land, and put the entire Empire at risk we need to know what is really happening."

"It is not our place to do this, Spuria," Servantius said in a low voice.

"If not us, who?" she shot back.

Servantius stared quietly into his own little Oblivion for a long moment. "Where do we begin?"

"That little white book," replied Spuria evenly.

"The one Francois referred to? The one in his breast pocket?"

Spuria smiled, "It stands to reason that more people would have a copy, don't you think?"

"Milvan, Bruiant, and the Countess would. Count Hassildor may as well. Gunder may not have one." He looked at the Nord who performed some kind of dance and sloshed his drink about while Manius clapped off beat.

"You can get to one, can't you?"

Servantius looked at Spuria with a poker face.

"_Can't you?_"

"I can have it arranged," he finally said.

"Even better."

"Sacred land?"

Spuria raised her eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"During your persuasive tirade you mentioned thousands of acres of sacred land being destroyed. What was that about?"

Spuria folded her arms across her stomach and looked at her feet, "Well I _am_ a Bosmer, Servantius. Naturally that kind of thing is important to us."

"I figured after all this time you would be a full fledged city girl."

"Look around this country. The only thing not beautiful about it is ruins of man made things. They look like broken abscessed teeth sprouting from the ground. Buildings may stand for a few months or a few centuries but they can crumble in an instant. The gardens of Mother Nature may last for centuries or millennia but it takes years of effort to bring them asunder."

Manius unsteadily strode up to Spuria and Servantius swinging his arms. His face was flush and his grin stupid, "That Nord isn't so bad after all."

Francois watched Gunder walk over to the Lord Treasurer at the table. Just beyond them he could see the Bosmer and Legion Major conversing in hushed rage. "That Bosmer, Cominius, wants to rip my face off. The Major would like to look the other way while it was happening."

"I don't know what they're so upset about," said Rimalus Bruiant. "We're not getting any credit for the voluntary tax increase."

"What did you two expect?" asked Lazare. "We came to there home and told them they didn't know how to handle things and we do. It doesn't matter how polite you are about it."

"That's not what we said," said Rimalus.

"Sure it is. They knew what we meant. They understand the difference. I saw no reason to sugar coat it."

"Speaking of which, you could have been more cordial," said Francois to Lazare. "Antagonizing the Lord Treasurer like that could have hurt our cause."

Lazare shook his head, "The only people that were going to make a difference today were you, the chancellor, and the countess. All the other attendants might as well have been tapestries. Do you know how many times in the past decade the Countess has called a conference with Chancellor Ocato?"

"No," replied Francois.

"Twice. Including today. Count Indarys of Cheydinhal calls conference almost every month. Countess Valga, like Count Hassildor, does not make a request from any one without knowing they must do it. The Empire is loosing its credibility with every day that goes by without an emperor. The Elder Council must show not just Cyrodiil and the provinces they deserve to remain the regents of our land. They must also show all of Nirn. That's what your little road is about Francois. Not commerce and employment. It's a show of power and will." Lazare paused for a moment, "It's also more than your path to nobility." He smiled at Francois.

Francois set his jaw forward and was about to say something before Rimalus interrupted him.

"Pay him no heed, Francois," said Rimalus. "Lazare grew up with every possession, convenience, and luxury except genuine emotions. That's why he likes to amuse himself by tempting others. Besides, why do you seek nobility?"

"Why would I not?" asked Francois.

"If I were to be born today I'd rather be your son than mine or Lazare's."

Lazare bellowed with laughter, "This shall be good."

Rimalus smiled, "It has been six generations since men of my family have taken up a sword to fight for Cyrodiil or Chorrol. Even longer for the Milvan family." Lazare scoffed loudly and placed his hands on his hips. "Nobility is a dying institution within the Empire. Merchants and traders will soon hold sway over Cyrodiil. Nobility seeks the expertise of men like you because they do not know how to seek out wealth in this age. In ages past they simply took it. They weren't born into it. They took it and built castles, assumed titles, devised hierarchies, and grew a culture around the purity of their blood. But now people like you can make enough money to compete with our stature. You now have the innovation and ability to multiply your fortunes where as we have only our old ways to gain fortune or secure the services of other merchants and traders. The Empire has its men at arms and doesn't need the swords of nobility. The same pool of mercenaries the nobles would now use to take wealth is accessible to you. Mark my words. Everything will change one day. There will come a time where even land will not be a requisite for vast wealth."

Lazare rolled his eyes, "Land is the source of all wealth, Rimalus. It always has been and always will be. You can't dream that simple fact of life away."

"I can't," Rimalus agreed.

There was a long lull in conversation between the three men. Francois took the time to absorb everything that was said. _They know I want nobility_, he thought. _I haven't exactly tried to hide that desire. Rimalus is under the impression that I'm an enterprising merchant. But I'm actually a liar and a murderer. Does that make me more of a noble by his definition? It makes me wonder if they would really care if they knew about Etzel Ferrer. Or if the knew enough._

"Is that Gunder fellow dancing over there?" asked Rimalus.

"I knew he would be able to spread some goodwill some how," said Lazare.

The door to the ante chamber opened with a groan. Countess Valga and Chancellor Ocato walked into the room. They looked at their side's respective halves of the room and curtly nodded to each other before joining their party.

Rimalus, Lazare, and Francois bowed before the Countess. Gunder walked over to the group with mug in hand.

"All goes well, Countess Valga?" asked Rimalus.

"Yes. According to plan," she replied.

Francois shook his head, "We should have rethought the Flamma Vigoratus, my lady. That is all the justification they need to reject our proposal."

"They may think that now but by tomorrow it shall not matter. We leave in the morning but no one is to sleep well tonight. Send out every aid, guard, and servant we brought to every inn, café, and business in the city. Make sure we have people in the Arena and the Elven Gardens. Have somebody of our party imprisoned for the night. They are to strike up conversation wherever they go and tell people about our proposal and the money it will bring to the Imperial City. Worry not about the details, Mr. Motierre. By sunrise the public will be our advocate."

Countess Valga placed her delicate hand on Francois shoulder and smiled, "You did well for your county, sir. You met resistance and you held firm. They impugned your integrity and you remained focused. You presented our side and never wavered."

"The Bosmer woman over there wants to kill me, I think," said Francois.

"You'll be fine," Countess Valga said. She leaned close to his ear and whispered in the quietest tone possible, "_You've been dead before_."

Francois tried not to blanch but the comment completely caught him off guard. The Countess flashed another grin at him.

"Sir Milvan and Gunder," said Countess Valga, "may we speak in private?" She waved the two men to follow her into the corner. Once there she asked quietly, "Does the Champion still maintain a residence in Skingrad?"

"Aye, my lady," said Gunder. "I know his house keeper very well. Her name is Eyja. She hasn't seen or heard from him in four and a half years. She would like to seek a hand in marriage but doesn't know what she should do."

Lazare laughed, "I know a number of nobles who are third and fourth in line for estates that wouldn't mind sleeping in the basement of Rosethorn Hall."

"How is she paid?" asked the Countess.

"The Champion paid the county a large retainer fee for several services. One of those was to pay Eyja every month."

"What else does the money do?"

"Can't say, my lady."

Lazare stroked his chin, "May I ask what this is about, Countess Valga?"

"Let's just say the Elder Council is very keen to learn his whereabouts."

Chancellor Ocato approached Servantius, Spuria, and Manius. Spuria looked to the ground. Manius was the first to speak, "How many years do you think it will take the Council to deliberate the proposal."

"Zero," said Ocato.

Spuria looked up, "You think they will reject it out of hand?"

Ocato shook his head slightly, "I think it will blast through the approval process."

"How?" she could not keep the pain out of her voice.

"They're right, Spuria. It's time to do something. Risky or not this road has the promise of hope."

* * *

Armand Christophe smoothed his hair back as he exited the tunnel connecting the Temple District to the Waterfront. The thieves were buzzing about rumors of a committee of some kind from Skingrad and Chorrol. Several wealthy individuals had business in the palace earlier in the day. Now they were busy merrymaking in every gathering place in the city. Armand wanted to get to the All Saints Inn before sundown. He wore a nice green vest, white shirt, and neat black slacks. Armand hoped to charm a servant out of a little information about their master's treasures and where they are kept.

He turned left on the sidewalk. The setting golden sun blasted him in the eyes. He used the flat of his hand to shield his vision. After forty paces he turned right onto the grass path through the western plaza. He came to the street and turned right. Armand was surprised to see Itius Hayn, the watch captain, leaning against the northwestern dividing wall with his arms folded across his heavily ornate and armored chest. Armand kept his head down and walked past the captain and the entrance to the inn.

"Armand Christophe," Itius called loudly.

"Who, me sir?" Armand pointed to his face and tried to appear surprised.

"Step inside with me."

"No thanks. It's not really my crowd in that place."

"Balderdash, you're here all the time." Itius pulled the door open and held it for Armand. Two guardsmen rounded the corner with hands on the hilts of their swords. "Or we could talk somewhere less public."

Armand frowned and walked through the door. He waved at the bar tender who smiled in return as he dried a tankard with a towel.

"Up the stairs," said Itius. "Room number two."

Armand walked ahead of Itius and wondered what awaited him. He came to the door and stopped. Itius motioned for him to continue through. He opened the door and found a man sitting at a desk. The man stood and folded his arms behind his back. Although he wore no armor, Armand recognized him as a former watch captain. "I know you," said Armand, "It's Sven, right?" Itius stood in front of the door.

"My name is Major Servantius Quintilius and I have a job for you Mr. Christophe."

"Great. Do you need some sails mended, rigging reworked, or I could..."

"Cease with the act, thief," said Servantius. "We know who and what you are. Or near enough. You're involved in the leadership structure of the Thieves Guild."

"Major, you know there's no such thing."

"Of course not, but for five thousand and some future favors similar services could be rendered."

Times had been tight, even for the Guild. An offer to steal for the Imperial Legion at least mitigated the risk of incarceration. "I'm listening."

"Every thing I'm about to tell you is in strict confidence. There is a committee of merchants and nobles in town tonight led by Countess Valga of Chorrol. They were here to propose a major construction project to the Elder Council. It will be built in Sixth Legion's area of responsibility and I have some serious security concerns regarding the project. Most urgent of those is the character of the man that created the project. A Chorrol citizen named Francois Motierre."

"What's the job?" asked Armand.

"The project is a new road to connect Skingrad and Chorrol. Francois referred to a small white book that, we assume, contains information pertinent to the project. We want that book. But, nobody can know we have it. We are also assuming the book has been distributed to Rimalus Buriant of Chorrol, Lazare Milvan of Skingrad, Countess Valga, and Count Hassildor."

Armand grunted. He looked at the ground for a moment while he paced, "Was the book printed or scribed?"

"I only saw the cover but it looked like it came from a press."

"You're probably right in assuming there are several copies. It's a matter of which copy will be the easiest to obtain that won't be missed. Do you know what really sets royalty apart from everybody else in a thief's mind?"

"Enlighten us."

"They don't sleep on top of their wealth. They can have someone do it for them. Nobles, merchants, commoners, everybody else keeps their goods as close to their bed as possible. Royals have vaults and guards to safeguard their valuables. So, one of those books is the best bet. Castle Skingrad in not an option for few have stolen from there and lived to tell the tale."

"So you will steal the book from Castle Chorrol?"

"No. The thing about Countess Valga is she has her vault inventoried every week. She could know the very next day something was missing. But every book has the publisher printed on the inside. Print shops keep at least one copy of any book they print; even when the author asks them not to. They shelve them and forget them until somebody needs the book for something or until they want to clear some space and burn it. This will be the copy we take."

"What do you think, Itius?" asked Servantius.

"Sounds plausible and necessarily discrete," said Itius. "But I think trusting this one is folly. Tell him about the rest of the plan."

Servantius looked at Armand. He walked in a circle around him until he stood next to Itius, "This project is going to require many laborers... laborers that will be paid directly from the Imperial Treasury. I want some of the beggars around Cyrodiil under your protection and a couple highly ranked thieves on the labor force. We need an extra set of eyes."

"No way," said Armand. "Check with the labor guild, if there is one that isn't enslaved."

"There is no five thousand Septims if you do not supply some laborers."

"We'll take a grand for the book job then."

Itius stepped forward, "Or how about we wage another campaign against the Thieves Guild."

Armand smirked, "The last time the watch did that the biggest heist in history was pulled off."

"When was the last time you saw the Gray Fox?" asked Itius. "There haven't been any thefts on that scale in a long time."

Armand said nothing.

"Come now, Armand," said Servantius. "Just tell them about it. The details haven't been addressed but they can count on three hot squares a day and maybe even a tent. Plus they will be earning their way. It'd be the first time for many of them."

"If they're treated unfairly..."

"I will be their strongest advocate. And the nobles and merchants will rely on me to enforce labor."

"Many of the beggars are old. They won't be much use for construction."

"There are all kinds of work on this project. We'll find something for anyone."

"What are these eyes supposed to see?"

"Anything amiss. Wasted resources, unsafe practices, strange people, and possible criminal activity."

"Why can't the guardsmen and Legionnaires keep an eye out?"

"We have reason to believe this will be anticipated by... suspicious people like Motierre."

_They've been infiltrated_, thought Armand. "Alright, I'll send word out. I'll also have somebody sent to Chorrol next week. Where do you want the book dropped off?"

"In Itius's office. I'm sure you'll know how to manage that."

"That's all Christophe," said Itius. He opened the door and motioned for him to leave the room. Armand left with no remark. After confirming he was not in the hall Itius closed the door and said, "So what did the records office and the Imperial Watch have on Francois Motierre?"

"He died ten years ago," said Servantius.

"He looks quite remarkable for a decade old cadaver."

"He was found dead in his house in Chorrol with a superficial wound to his abdomen. The local guardsmen thought he was poisoned. The next day his body is missing from the chapel undercroft. An investigation found he had defaulted on a loan from some shady loan sharks. His mother was killed the week prior but no report had been filed. Case closed. Until a little over two years ago when he shows up in Chorrol to reclaim his family's home which was about to go into escheat. Some sources say that he travels all over Cyrodiil and may operate under aliases but none are known. He's now handsomely paid by the Chorrol county as a consultant. There were rumors at the time of his death that the Dark Brotherhood had something to do with his death. But that was during the Oblivion Crisis when everybody that was murdered was thought to be assassinated by the Dark Brotherhood."

"Food for thought, to be sure. Let's go downstairs and wash it down with some brews."

Servantius sighed, "Sounds good to me." The two men walked down to the lobby. A few people were eating and drinking at tables but the bar was completely open. Armand was nowhere to be seen which, they knew, meant nothing. Servantius slapped a few coins onto the bar and said, "Two ales, Willet, and keep'em full."

"Yes sir, always a pleasure to serve those who serve the Empire," said the Redguard inn keeper. He filled two tankards full of foamy ale and set them in front of Servantius and Itius. "So have you heard of the new road? Everybody is talking about it today. It's quite exciting don't you think?"

Servantius shook his head and brought the drink to his lips. _It has already begun_, he thought.


	4. Chapter 4: A Traitor and a Thief

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 4: A Traitor and a Thief

Amusei rounded a bend in the Black Road. The city of Chorol shifted into view. His spotted orange and red Argonian eyes with elliptical pupils scanned the area outside the walls. There were four guards at the gate and two in each gate tower. A small group of friends were talking with a stable worker tending to a young filly. Dusk was settling and brought with it a cold draft from the northern Jerral Mountains. Being this far north in the month of First Seed made his reptilian scales ache. He approached the gate with a calm face. Amusei thought he could climb the walls but if he got caught on the other side that would be the end of the job. Performance like that was unbecoming of a Shadow Foot of the Thieves Guild.

When Armand explained the job, Amusei questioned its necessity. The guild had never accepted a job as risky and as heavily financed from the government. When Amusei expressed his concerns about the job Armand admitted it was a dangerous game for the guild to place itself between the counts and the Elder Council. But Armand also believed there was much information and profit to be had in this game... enough to justify the risk.

Just before reaching the gate Amusei looked back with a tired sigh. _Those people are right_, he thought. _We do need some better roads_. The Chorrol gate and the city guardsman brandished the great oak tree of the city against the deep royal blue background. A Cyrodilic guard looked him up and down. Amusei had recently turned in his old leather armor for a new full set. This new armor was also leather but dyed a deep matte black. On the shoulders and cuirass there were black steel plates riveted in place. His bracers had thick steel rings woven into them and the grieves were custom made to provide extra mobility. A series of black leather plates traveled down his spine and tapered after the base of his two and a half foot long tail. The sable ensemble was a striking contrast with the bright orange and lime green scales of his face. But when it came time to blend in the shadows Amusei had a hood tucked into the back of the cuirass.

"Hail Argonian," said the guardsman. "State your name and business here."

"Amusei," he replied with his hissy and raspy voice. "I came here to visit some of your merchants."

"From where have you traveled?" asked the guard.

"Imperial City."

"You traveled on foot from the capital to Chorrol with a mere bow and a dagger?"

Amusei looked down at himself. He did not anticipate a guard would be suspicious of him for being too _lightly_ armed. Of course the guard could not see the four poisoned throwing knives concealed in his right gauntlet and the enchanted baton that paralyzes its victims in the left one. "Heh, let's just say I'm good at avoiding trouble. But I may make my way to Battlehorn Castle tomorrow. I hear they have weapons that makes trouble avoid you. Ha!"

A look fell over the guard's face that made Amusei nervous. The guard backed up to the wall where an ebony long bow and a lidded quiver leaned against it. He picked up the quiver and unscrewed the lid. Before it was off Amusei could make out the ugly fletching of Daedric arrows. "I bought these beauties at Battlehorn," said the guard in a smug tone as he held one out for Amusei to see.

Amusei could not take his eyes off the hideous red and onyx things, "That's... real nice."

The proud owner nodded his head, "Well you better hurry inside. Night approaches and the shops will not stay open long.

As the gates drudged open Amusei saw another guard write something in a log book.

* * *

Spuria stepped out of the Skingrad west gate and inhaled deeply. It was a fine cool morning for a trek. A few minutes ago she finished her breakfast at the West Weald Inn and was ready to see this White Road for herself. She left her duties at the Office of the Interior to her assistants for three days time. She did not want to attract too much attention so in place of her official garbs or battle mage armor she wore mythril armor with leather gloves and boots but no helmet under a long dark green cloak. When the cloak was closed nobody would be the wiser. She carried a sheathed silver short sword on her belt and a rucksack on her back. Spuria also lugged a set of bulky saddle bags over her shoulder. They contained all of the provisions she would need for the next three days.

Her horse was at Grateful Pass Stables. Its location on the west side of the city was very inconvenient for her. She could see the care taker, Tilmo, removing a feedbag from her bay horse. She waved at him as she approached the stable fence and flung the heavy saddle bags onto the top rail.

Tilmo took the stallion by the reigns and guided him over to his master, "Good morning. I hope you weren't up as late as we were last night."

Spuria reached up and petted her horse along his crest, "Oh, I'm sorry. He gets that way in unfamiliar stables."

"He spent little time in the stable, my lady," said Tilmo. "He'd have none of it. We let him roam the pen all night. Eventually he found a spot on the ground to sleep."

Spuria winced, "I'll compensate you for the extra trouble."

Tilmo nodded, pleased with the consideration. He hesitated before speaking again, "You know, my lady, geldings are much easier to handle than stallions. It _is_ a service we offer."

Spuria glared at Tilmo, "It is not his fault we can't provide a place comfortable to him."

"My lady, these are animals. Animals we use for our convenience. If you plan to travel with this one that is something you should think about."

Spuria climbed over the fence and placed her saddle bags on the horse. She mounted it and looked down at the Altmer, "Thank you for your professional advice but there is nothing wrong with my horse. Hee-yah!" Spuria and horse spun south and galloped strait toward the fence on the other side of the pen. Her horse effortlessly cleared the four foot tall barrier and continued along the city wall as it curved south east. Occasionally she would glance at the city and watch how the tall regal buildings peeked over parapets of the fifty foot wall surrounding the wealthiest county seat of power. The road they were supposed to use curved north around the city but it went around the vineyards and farm grounds. Spuria did not have that kind of patience. She slowed her horse to a canter when she neared the dirt path underneath the bridge that leads to Castle Skingrad. A city guardsman on the path gave her a dirty look but said nothing as she passed. She slowed her horse to a walk when the actual stone road appeared under his hooves. They turned north and the rising sun peeked at them through the maple trees on top of the hilly peeks flanking the road.

Spuria neared the bend in the Gold Road where it would meet with the new road and stopped. She could see several armed people milling about. She dismounted her horse and quickly tied him to a tree. Spuria stalked her way through some brush until she came to the road. She counted eight people of various races outside of a cave entrance. The stench of death filled her nostrils. She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"Lo' there," said a deep voice behind her.

Spuria pivoted on her feat and lashed out with her short sword as her cloak swirled around her body. All she saw was a round iron shield rushing towards her. Her attack was knocked aside with a loud clank. Her assailant, still unrevealed, pushed into her chest with the shield while stomping down on her cloak. She was pulled to the ground when her neck caught on the collar.

The shield came up to reveal a handsome Imperial man clad in heavy iron armor. He had brown eyes and long hair, "Peace woman! What are you doing in these woods?" He held a long sword in his right hand but did not thrust it at her nor held it on high ready to chop her head off.

Spuria let go of her sword but readied herself to throw a fireball strait into the man's torso, "I'm Spuria Cominius of the Imperial government and I demand to know what you and your companions are doing on the Gold Road."

"South watch, report!" some one from the road yelled.

"Hold!" replied the Imperial. He looked down at Spuria, "My name is Fadus Calidius of the Skingrad Fighters Guild and I will need to see your seal."

Spuria pulled the leather glove off her right hand with her teeth and showed the ring to Fadus.

"All's well!" Fadus called out. "Just a traveler." He removed his heavy boot from her cloak and helped Spuria to her feet. "We swept Derelict Mine clean of goblins last week and burned the bodies. We're keeping watch until the miners have established operations again. Sometimes the smell of dead goblins will attract more of their own kind. You're not a goblin are you?" Fadus smiled demurely.

"No, fighter, nor does that odor attract me."

"Aye, those creatures are rancid."

"I was referring to _your_ odor."

"Oh." Fadus frowned at having his pride wounded.

"Tell me, have you heard of the new road that has been proposed here?"

"Oh, yes. That is the talk of the West Weald and Colovial Highlands. It's probably the reason why somebody is bothering to clear that mine out."

Spuria narrowed her eyes, "Who contracted the job?"

"Lazare Milvan. Almost all of the Milvan family's fortune is made in the southern provinces but for some reason a few months ago he bought the mine from the county. Now we know why."

"I should say so," said Spuria. She sheathed her sword and wrapped her cloak around her iridescent armored body as she made her way to her horse.

* * *

Amusei reached down to the crack in between the door of his room at the Grey Mare inn and the rough wooden floor. The hinges had creaked on his way in. He lifted up on the door as he opened it to take the weight off the hinges. They stayed silent. Amusei looked both ways down the hall. The hall was empty. He listened. Two buddies tipsily bantered back and forth at the bar on the first floor. The barkeep cleared dishes and cups from the abandoned tables. A traveler snored loudly in the room adjacent to his.

He pulled his hood from the back of the cuirass and glided toward the window at the end of the hall. He opened the window and looked at the ground below. Only crickets could be heard. It was dark and clear. He listened one more time before springing out of the window. He landed softly on the long grass below throwing his arms and tail out while his legs absorbed the shock of the jump. He moved to the wall of the inn and flattened himself against it. He first looked to the south gate. Again there were two guards in the tower but only two guards at the gate interior. They appeared rested and alert. He looked to his left where the southeast tower of the wall stood. That was his main concern. A stone fence lined the street to the castle so his movement would be blocked from roaming patrols. But the southeast tower was just across a grassy field to the castle barracks. He observed earlier that guards traveled between the two places at irregular times. There were boulders on either side of the field to hide behind but a guard could be enjoying a twilight smoke break with his herb of choice there as well. Another danger presented between the two towers was scarce torchlight. The tower guards' eyes would be adjusted to the darkness whereas the gate guards' eyes were not.

Amusei crouched down and started toward the barracks tower of the castle. He kept close to the stone wall next to the street. He heard two guards on patrol walking. Their chainmail rustled and boots clamored on the pavement loud enough for Amusei to track them without seeing them. As soon as he could see the door to the south east tower it flew open with a bang. Amusei froze like a statue.

"Damn it!" shouted a guard emerging from the tower. "Will you look at this?" He pointed to his chest which was stained a deep red.

The guard posted at the door turned to look. Amusei took the opportunity to scamper into a boulder formation that rested against the castle wall. The door guard paused for a moment and said, "Is that wine?"

"No! What am I? Crazy? It's juice."

"It looks like wine to me."

"Well it ain't! It's juice. I spilled my juice all over my surcoat."

"What kind of juice?"

"It's... well its prune juice."

The door guard shook his head, "Why are you drinking prune juice?"

"The chapel healer gave it to me. It's... It's for some stomach problems."

"Mm-hmm. In any case it's best that Bitteneld doesn't see that."

Amusei watched the stained guard trudge his way to the castle gate. He let out a little sigh and looked up. There was a path through the boulders that shielded him from the southeast tower. He slowly climbed through the gaps and cracks in the formation until he came to the castle wall again. At the next corner of the castle was another formation. He chose to climb through that one as well. He continued around the castle until he came to a tower on the wall with an arch that connected to the main castle. It was well known to members of the Thieves Guild that this door was never guarded or patrolled. He pulled his lock picking kit from a pouch on his belt and selected the correct warded pick and tension wrench. It did not take long to open the door.

He slipped inside and quickly climbed the dark tower to the top floor where the arch would connect to the main hall of the castle. There was another locked door before he entered the residential part. From there on Amusei knew guards would be roaming the floors. He picked the lock but before opening the door he removed a spell scroll from a pouch on his belt. Amusei had no experience with magic before joining the Thieves Guild. After he was promoted to the rank of Prowler he sought out instruction from other guild mates. He only knew how to wield enchanted items and read scrolls but hoped one day to be a skilled illusionist.

He unrolled a life detection scroll and read the invocation under his breath, "Ostendo sum vita." It was always a weird feeling. The scroll would disintegrate in a small colorful burst. It felt like sea spray against his scales from an ocean that was halfway to boiling. A colorful haze, purple with this spell, appeared before his eyes. Then the spell was cast. Amusei tried to blink away the haze but something was wrong. It was not the same cloud as usual. To his horror he realized somebody was approaching the door from the other side. He stepped into the corner next to the door and took out his paralyzing baton. The rough purple shape of a man grew larger. It moved slightly crouched and looking all around as it slowly stepped towards him. _It's another bloody thief_, Amusei thought.

If it was a guild mate there would be hell to pay. If it was a free lancer Amusei thought he could knock them out and set them up to be framed for the robbery. The figure was now less than three feet away. It reached its arm to the wall and Amusei heard the sound of a quenched torch. Then another. The shape backed up against the opposite wall and slid down it. The sound of scraping chainmail and armor seemed excruciatingly loud to him. Amusei watched the shape breath for forty more seconds until the spell wore off. Two minutes of motionless panic later he heard soft snoring on the other side of the door. _Unbelievable_, Amusei thought.

He begrudgingly used another scroll. He only brought five of the life detection spells with him. Scanning all around Amusei saw a few guards posted. The one sleeping in front of him must have been their roving patrol. There were two guards posted about one hundred feet away from him on a lower level that seemed very alert. From the purple apparitional hues he could tell their posture was ready and their breathing calm. _They must be the throne room guards_, he thought. The throne room was connected to the private quarters of the Chorrol royal family, court, and a few servants, all of which were fast asleep, by a split stair case and walkway that wrapped around the back end of the hall. Down below the main hall where his magically enhanced vision could not yet penetrate was the county vault. He slowly opened the door taking care not to bump the slumbering sentry's legs. He moved quickly and surely down the passage way leaving the snores in his silent wake. He picked the lock to the throne room and gently inched the door open.

"What's that?" said a faint voice.

Amusei shut the door. _They're inside the throne room_. He crouched low and was about to move to the door on the other side of throne room but heard the sleeping guard stir. That gave him an idea. He ran over to the guard and searched around him. Laying beside him was a fist sized brass snuffer for torches. Amusei picked the snuffer up and ran to the other door. He quickly picked the lock and used another scroll to see inside the throne room. One of the guards had taken a few steps forward and was looking towards the first door he opened. Amusei slowly and carefully opened the other door. He left it cracked open and crawled on his hands and knees to the walkway. The walkway was bordered by a wall rather than a handrail supported by balusters preventing the guards from seeing him.

"It was nothing," said the guard who stepped forward.

Amusei saw his purple aura turn back to his companion. He reached the other door. Next to it burned a torch in an ornate sconce. He quickly reached up with the snuffer, extinguished the flame, and retracted his arm before the guards could see him.

"There!" Swords were drawn and the guards ran up the staircase as Amusei went down the other side. "What's this snuffer doing here?" said one of the guards. "Where's Marcus?"

Amusei scurried across the throne room into the corridor leading to the vault. He descended a spiral stairwell until he reached the bottom. A guard carrying a torch slowly walked his way. Amusei figured he had already made a large enough ruckus to keep this job from being tidy. He unrolled a chameleon spell scroll and used it to blend in to the stone wall. The guard passed him then paused as if he had seen something not quite right. Amusei whipped his paralyzing baton into the nerve just behind the guard's jaw and his body fell to the stone floor. Amusei picked up the torch and set it along the wall.

He pulled the blue surcoat over the guard's head and onto himself. By the time he had removed the guard's helmet, sword, and scabbard his chameleon spell expired. He picked the torch up and held it to obscure his face then readied his next spell scroll.

The two men guarding the vault were large Nords. One spoke up, "We heard something. Did you fall or something?" He leaned from one side to the other trying to see Amusei's face behind the fire.

"Sopor," replied Amusei. The scroll burst apart in a white cloud out of his fist and the two guards collapsed into a temporary coma. He rushed forward and took a look at the vault door. There were two key holes. He had not anticipated this. He searched the guards near the door and found one key on the guard that spoke. Amusei traveled back to the stripped guard and said a prayer of thanks to Kynareth, the god of good fortune, when he found the other key around the unconscious man's neck. He returned to the vault door and again was daunted. The key holes were on either side of the door which was wider than the span of his arms. Standing there, with both keys in hand, Amusei cursed his bad fortune.

He looked at the keys closely. They were barrel shaft keys with what appeared to be elaborate groves at odd intervals. They were almost as large as his palm, fairly heavy, and the bow was an ornate metal heart shaped ring that looked like vines twisted together. His thoughts dwelled on the bow. He craned his tail around his body to see if it would fit inside. It narrowly fit but he doubted he could create enough torque to actually rotate the plug with just his tail. _But if I had a lever_, he thought. He reached into his lock pick set and removed the oldest hook pick he had. He inserted it into the bow and hooked it around the key. He inserted the levered key and other key into the holes and bent forward so that he could turn the key on the right with his hand and the key on the left with his tail. "Let's see a human do this," he whispered. It took a few attempts but he finally unlocked the door.

Amusei had little idea of where the book could be and the vault was quite large. And tempting. Riches such as antique weapons, jewels, precious metals, and fine dinner ware sat on wooden shelves. Framed and wrapped paintings leaned against walls and ancient marble busts sat on the floor. He carried with him only one torch yet the entire windowless and dank smelling room was illuminated by the many reflections of its glow. Each group of shelves and racks had a wood sign labeling them. Some signs contained cryptic serial numbers; others were specifically labeled like, _holiday fixtures_. His attention was drawn to the far wall. It was adorned with shelves full of documents, scrolls, and books. In the middle of the wall and in between the two large book cases dominating it was a simple desk piled high with papers, parchments, and a little white book. He picked the book up and opened the cover to the publishers imprint. At the bottom it had a picture of a setting sun with a single flare rising from the top and read, _Green Flash Publishing in Anvil, Cyrodiil_. He flipped through the pages. The book seemed to be the one he was looking for.

He placed the book on the desk and sighed. _Now I have to get out of here_, he thought. Actually getting out of the castle was not the hardest part. Not leaving a trail to follow was the challenge. Four minutes ago he began attracting the attention of guards and knocking them unconscious. They will start a man hunt before dawn. The log book at the gate meant he simply cannot disappear or else he will be arrested in Imperial City. Amusei needed an alibi.

Fifteen minutes later and across the city Malintus Ancrus slept soundly until his dog growled. He calmly rolled over in bed and reached down to pet the terrier. But then he heard the floor boards of his front deck creek. His eyes opened and he reached behind the head board of his bed where there was an ax. A soft knock at the door stayed his hand. _Thieves and guardsmen don't knock_. He tossed the covers off of him, lit a candelabra sitting on the end table behind his dog, and went to the door. Malintus opened it to find Amusei conspicuously dressed in black from head to toe. He never really liked Amusei but a member of the Thieves Guild did not allow a brother to stand out in the open totally exposed. He showed him in with a wave, "Going to jail again soon, Amusei?"

"Do you still have the wagon and horse?" the Argonian asked.

"Yes," replied Malintus.

"Where's Gistel?"

"She's out doing some local earning tonight. What's this about?"

"I need you to hide some of my equipment tonight, tell any guards that may ask I was here just after the stores closed, asked you to take me to Battlehorn Castle in the morning, that you agreed to do that, and that I left twenty minutes later."

Malintus scowled but said nothing.

Amusei nervously laughed, "Heh, then you actually have to take me to Battlehorn tomorrow." He opened a black velvet bag, "In turn I'll let you have a cut of these."

Malintus accepted the bag from Amusei and shifted the jewels around. There was a variety of diamonds, sapphires, and bloodstones, all of which were between three quarters and one karat with excellent clarity and good shape. "Now you're talking."

"Yeah... I'll need you to fence those as well," Amusei gave Malintus a razor sharp toothed smile. "It'd be best to hide them tonight, too."

Malintus smiled back, "You know, I never really liked you, Amusei."

* * *

Spuria had passed the Brindle Home settlement three hours ago and trotted along deep in The Great Forest. Locating the ridge was not difficult, for the map she received during the Colovial Committee's presentation was well scaled. The sun told her it was the late afternoon and she knew at her horse's current pace she could be in Chorol by nightfall. That was nothing short of amazing she admitted to herself. Its gentle rise in elevation made it possible to travel much faster than any northern path she knew. It was clear to her if built; the road would deliver as promised. The only thing in their way was nature itself.

But to begin a new ambitious campaign to scar the motherland further ignited a fury in her wood dwelling soul. The more of The Great Forest she saw the hotter her anger became. Why are there voices for the needs of peasants, farmers, merchants, soldiers, mages, nobles, and royals, yet there is not a single voice for Mother Nature? She is only worth taking from. No one ever considers listening, respecting, conserving, and especially giving back to her.

Spuria was jolted out of her depressing rumination by her horse jerking at his reigns and snorting loudly. She shushed and patted him but he continued to jerk away. He neighed loudly and turned to run but Spuria held him fast. She dismounted keeping a white knuckled grip on the reigns and listened closely. For a long time she only heard the rustling wind through the leaves. Then she heard it. Like a young child's laugh muffled by a pillow, she heard it. The call of the spriggan. Half human and half tree, these creatures were thought to be born from nature to harass mankind. They attacked with stunning grace and terrible magic curses. This was not a fight Spuria wanted. Hoping they had not been detected she led her horse down the mountain ridge.

The horse whined and kicked frantically. She lost her grip on the reigns and the horse galloped southward. It did not get far. A large black bear burst from behind a tree with a roar and swiped at the horse's flanks with its claws. The claws cleaved deeply into the horse's flesh and blood gushed down its right hind leg.

"No!" shouted Spuria.

The horse wheeled up on its hind legs and kicked wildly. As soon as the bear recoiled in defense the stallion thundered down the mountain without a thought about his master. Spuria dashed towards the bear. She had two dozen spells she could use against it but she wanted blood. She drew her sword and slashed at the bear that seemed to be patiently waiting for her. The bear dodged to the side and swiped its claws at her face. Spuria slipped her short sword into a high guard and caught the animal at the elbow. The bear howled and attacked again. It batted her sword down and tried to trap it on the ground with its paw. It reached down and closed it's teeth around the blade. Spuria sent a cracking shock of electricity through her arm to her sword. The bolt sparked against the bear's fangs and sent it tumbling down the mountain into a patch of thick briar bushes. Spuria pounced. She twirled her sword into an underhand grip and plunged it into the heart of the animal. She twisted it once just to see that final twitch of life.

Then Spuria heard the muffled cry again. The six foot tall monster sashayed into her peripheral vision. This one looked more dangerous and menacing than the few she had witnessed first hand. It had a lithe feminine figure. Parts of its flesh looked like mossy bark and others parts, like her face, looked like the skin of an orange mushroom. Twigs bearing little leaves sprang from the head like hair. Its white eyes glowed dully. It paused as if posing for a glamorous portrait fifteen paces away from Spuria. She cast a magical shield on herself and waited for the monster to attack.

The spriggan batted its eyelashes. _You killed my pet. _

The words boiled up from Spuria's taunt conscious mind. At first she was confused. Spuria thought she imagined them despite their clarity. A slow shake of the spriggan's leafy head told her otherwise. She had never heard of any attempt by a spriggan to communicate. "It attacked my horse," she hissed.

_You trespass._ The spriggan advanced.

A deep pain seized Spuria's stomach. She stepped back and retched. "Don't. I don't want to fight you."

_Then die. _The glow of its eyes changed from white to red as it pressed the curse harder into Spuria.

"I'm on your side. I love nature. I'm a Bosmer for The Nine's sake!"

_Your kind fell away from nature centuries ago. Few of you may live off of nature but none live of nature. You are now of the man-beasts. I see into you. You eat and sleep in homes of dead trees and cut stone. Plants and flowers, trapped in clay and corrupt soil never to spread their seed, comfort your conscience. Many of you must die by our hands, for fear is the only thing that changes your ways! _As the spriggan spoke to Spuria without talking, three inch long thorns slowly rose from its skin and its long slender fingers sharpened into razor like talons.

Spuria vomited down her mythril clad chest as she fled. She tried to muster the concentration to dispel the spriggan's curse but its words scrambled her mind and filled her with doubt. This spriggan was way more powerful than it should be.

_Kneel and your death shall be quick. _

Spuria cried. She cried like a scared, petrified child. Tears streamed down her face and her elvish ears drooped. She was done. She knelt on one knee as if to say a prayer but the horror was so intense she could not muster the will even for this.

The spriggan emitted its little muffled child laugh one last time. It drew back and fanned out its bladed hand.

Time slowed down inside Spuria Cominius's mind. Something small welled up inside her. Something other than fear and desperation. She searched for a word to label the feeling so when she passed on she would know the last thing that went through her mind. Pride was the answer. She found it a curious sensation to have at the end of her life. What did she have to be proud of? But this sensation was not that clear. It was mixed with other stronger feelings; like rage. She ventured out to see what would be lost to this road only to fall into this trap. She wanted nothing more to save this creature's home. Despite its ability to read her thoughts it saw her as an enemy. Her efforts and intentions were not simply good enough... they were not even worthy of consideration. Then it _mocked_ her in her time of desperation and submission with its little laugh!

Spuria glanced up. The animated branch was swinging at her head in a large arch. She looked down at her hand. She still held her sword firm in her grip. She pulled the blade up and examined the tip. It glinted in the sunlight poking through the forest canopy. A shiver traveled up her spine and the world around her spasmed; ground, trees, air, and enemy. _THOK_! Spuria found her self in a perfect supination thrust: Back leg planted and strait. Her off hand thrown back. Font leg absorbing the shock of the lunge. Her sword arm fully extended with the palm up and the blade imbedded two inches into the skull of the monster.

In a blink the glowing red eyes turned back to white. Spuria was so close to the spriggan she could actually distinguish irises and pupils in the white orbs as they crossed to observe the blade in between them. The thing let out a low moan like a village imbecile. Its breath smelled of rich soil. Spuria could feel her strength returning. She grabbed the pommel of her sword with her off hand and pushed the spriggan up the mountain. Deep amber sap oozed from the wound in slow spurts down its face. On top of the ridge Spuria pinned the spriggan to a tree. "I didn't want to do this," she said.

_It's the only thing you know how to do._ The spriggan regained some of its strength and swung at the Bosmer but its talons could not pierce her armor. Instead the spriggan grabbed Spuria by the shoulders and pulled her closer.

Spuria could feel the monster getting stronger. It pulled on her so hard that her sword bowed. She heard its muscles strain like stretched ropes. It opened its mouth to reveal rows of thorny teeth less than a foot away from her hand. Spuria had to end this. Soon it would curse her again. She placed the hand bracing the pommel onto the spriggan's chest and let loose a blast of fire that enveloped the creature. Spuria kicked it to the ground. Its burning head snapped towards her and it readied for a lunge. Spuria dropped her sword and drew up her fists, "Infirmitas ut incendia!"

The fire tripled in size instantly with a loud whoosh. Spuria could not see the spriggan's figure inside the fire tempest anymore. It shrieked in pain and ran a few steps before collapsing. Spuria could not control herself. She remorsefully cried aloud while the words of her victim ricocheted in her head.

_fear is the only thing that changes your ways_

_fear is the only thing that changes your ways_

_fear is the only thing that changes your ways_

* * *

The schooner rocked to and fro as it rode the low tide of the Abecean Sea. Amusei leaned on the foc'sle handrail on the starboard side to relax as he watched the sun skim lower to the horizon. It would be a beautiful sunset that night. The ship would arrive in Anvil in a few short minutes. He could see the nearly white sand of the Gold Coast and the wall of the great city.

Earlier that morning before sun up guardsmen kicked down the door to his room at the Grey Mare as predicted. They did not find anything and moved on. He bundled his armor up and wore a simple white cotton shirt and black pants. Malintus delivered him to Battlehorn Castle as promised. He could not believe all of the mercenaries and arms dealers. Around the castle sprang up its own little shanty town of beggars, whores, and thieves. That was fortunate because the Guild had already installed a fencing operation there. He was able to pay Malintus and pocket a nice hunk of coin himself. The gates to the castle were open and the general public was allowed in.

Within the gates were all manner of dangerous characters: mercenaries, legionnaires, bounty hunters, and brawlers. Most were excited about the unraveling political turmoil. Many provinces were expected to secede in the absence of an Emperor. Speculation for increased business was high. To keep up appearances Amusei used some of his money from the jewels to buy an ebony dagger and a custom set of red elven arrows. He found a bowyer and fletcher stand that served hot tea and biscuits as you watched them work. Also around the courtyard were blacksmiths and armorers, all of them hawking their wares by calling out to potential customers. From Battlehorn he traveled south with a caravan to the Brena River where he boarded the schooner.

The schooner drifted towards a long narrow pier in the middle of the harbor. Anvil citizens were gathering on the peninsula where their lighthouse stood to watch the setting sun. It was charming local custom where the citizens stopped what they were doing to say a prayer of thanks. The best vista was by the lighthouse outside of the city walls. Amusei reasoned with all the people crowding to return before the lawlessness that befalls harbors at night befalls them, the guards would have little time to log names.

The mooring lines were slung to the dock and caught by line handlers. They quickly took up the slack and wound the ropes around mooring cleats. One of the handlers working at the end of the pier was a burly Argonian. After walking to the dock across the gangplank Amusei curled his tail at the end and subtly swiped the ground with it as a friendly gesture. The line handler nodded his head slightly as he went about his work.

Making his way towards the lighthouse with his bundle on his back Amusei took note of security. The guards were lax and inattentive. Their expressions ranged from aloof to bored. Although they appeared lean and well equipped they did not stand watch with proper military discipline. The walls were extremely thick and tall; probably to withstand the hurricane season. Unlike other walled cities, Anvil's towers had conical roofs which limited guards' view. He considered scaling the wall a second time but as before one had to worry what awaited him on the other side.

The sun had finally touched the ocean and the sky became a torrent of colors. Although his eyes were fixed on the deep purples and brilliant oranges hovering over the golden shimmering reflection of the sun that stretched from the horizon to the coast on which he stood, Amusei's attention was on his path into the city. The sun stayed perched on the end of Nirn for a few moments before submitting to the blue darkness of night. Calmly the locals turned as one and headed for sanctuary. They purposely looked strait ahead and ignored the sailors and laborers that stayed on the boardwalk during the daily event. These denizens of the docks patiently waited with cocky sneers and watched the herd of innocents flee before they reclaimed their territory with drunken bedlam, lawlessness, and debauchery.

Amusei squeezed past the guards and moved beyond the gates. He knelt to tie his boot lace and looked about slowly. There were few fences separating the properties along the city walls. He watched as some people simply took the shortest paths to their own homes through their neighbors' yards. Families stopped and greeted each other along the way. _You have to love the free spirits of coastal dwellers_, he thought. He strolled along the wall and peered in between each building before spotting a carved wood sign with the familiar Green Flash Publishing logo on it across the street. It was only two doors down from The Count's Arms, an inn famous for its selection of wines and friendly, well traveled guests. He decided there would be a good place to wait.

Inside the inn customers were just getting settled after watching the sunset. Handshakes, hugs, and superficial kisses on the cheek were being exchanged. A bard lightly strummed his sitar by a great fireplace while reciting a poem about lovers in the night. Amusei walked to the bar and ordered a dark Taneth lager. The inn keeper mentioned that Quill-Weave, the famed author, would probably be by soon. Although Amusei was sure the bar tender was simply trying to make him feel more welcome it irritated him. As if any Argonian would strike up a conversation with another.

Beside him a few Septims were slapped onto the bar, "The usual, Wilbur."

"Any excitement today, Captain?" asked Wilbur.

"Yes, there was a mugging just outside the gates this morning."

"Well there you go! How did your men do?"

"How? You mean _what_. And the answer is nothing. The damn Legion patrol was on the bugger in seconds. They didn't even help."

"They need to put you on harbor side watch."

The man held his bottle of beer up and said, "Maybe I'll get drunk tonight and start a fight with Sextius over there and get myself demoted."

Amusei ease dropped on the conversation while staring into his lager. He chuckled and looked at the man. Fear seized his heart. Hieronymus Lex sat next to him and obliviously swigged his beer. It had completely slipped Amusei's mind that the Thieves Guild's main enemy was the Anvil watch captain. After Lex declared an all out war on the guild they orchestrated the transfer through forging official Imperial correspondence and documents.

Lex looked at Amusei with his piercingly bright blue wolf eyes and smiled, "Greetings traveler, welcome to Anvil. It's a lovely place to _visit_," he said drolly.

"Well I won't be staying long," said Amusei a little too eagerly.

Lex offered Amusei his hand, "Hieronymus Lex, watch captain. Did you come in on the schooner from the Brena?"

Amusei nodded quickly, "Yes. Yes I did."

"Then you saw the sunset?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"If you do stay a while there are some other sights to see. The castle parlor is featuring the collected paintings of Astia Inventius. Benirus Manor, home of Champion Merton Balik is just down the street. And Sundas kicks off the pumpkin festival."

_Was he a watch captain of a tourist guide_, Amusei wondered. "That's nice but I have a room at the Brianna Cross Inn."

"Oh, well travel safely... I'm sorry I didn't catch your name."

"My name is... Joonee-Num."

Lex leaned his head to the side, "Okay, you have a safe trip." Lex turned and walked towards a table of young women.

Amusei looked out the window. _Dark enough_, he thought.

Breaking into Green Flash Publishing was a simple task. Four seconds at the back door was all it took. His nostrils were full of ink fumes and grease. He crept down into the basement to find the archives. He should have been calmer in an unguarded, unoccupied building but his anxiety was getting to him. Seeing Hieronymus Lex at the inn had jilted his concentration. _That_, he thought, _and I'm scared_. He felt as if Lex was going to show up behind him any second in full Imperial Dress Armor.

He leafed through the various books on the shelves until finally coming to his little white book. He grabbed it and pulled but another book came off the shelf with it. The two books were bound together with twine. Amusei sat on the floor and untied the twine. The other book was brown and worn. Some pages were torn out of it and other pages were glued in place. He had a decision to make. Take both books for the client or leave one. Giving both books to the client would probably exceed their expectation as the brown book seemed to be a prototype copy of some kind. Or maybe the white book was plagiarized from the brown book. Leaving one book might give the theft some cover. He decided on the latter. Amusei shoved the brown book and twine into his bag. He was glad to be leaving Anvil.

At The Count's Arms Lex was sitting at a card game with some Fighters Guild members. They were playing for their bar tabs. If a player won his tab was paid for by the others. Maelona, a female city guard walked to the table.

"We have some interesting news from Chorrol, sir," she said.

"Chorrol? Can it wait?" asked Lex.

"It's a security issue, sir."

"Alright." Lex stood and walked outside into the moonlight with Maelona. There was a patio on the left side of the inn with tables and seats that was unoccupied. "Is this fine?"

"Yes Captain. There was a robbery at the Chorrol Castle vault last night. They made off with a small fortune in precious stones. The perpetrator took out several guards."

"That is interesting news. Somebody pulled a job at Chorrol with their heightened security. And they killed guards too."

"No sir. Just incapacitated them with magic."

"I see. I'll talk to the Count about increasing our own security measures tomorrow morning. He'll probably say no but it doesn't hurt to suggest it. At least not with him. Thank you, Maelona. You're dismissed." Maelona turned to leave. "Stop." Memories flooded into Lex's mind: incidents, faces, and names. "No. No. No. No. Wait. That bastard!"

"Sir?"

"Double the guards tonight, inventory the county vault, detain any unfamiliar Argonian, and send a rider to Chorrol to see if they have an Argonian named Amusei in their gate logs."

"Yes sir."

"It'll probably be a waste of time... but send a team to the Brianna Cross Inn. Ask if they have a guest named Joonee-Num. If they do, arrest him."

"Joonee-Num, sir?

"Yes it's the same Argonian. Joonee-Num was shooting the breeze with me two hours ago at the bar after he got off the schooner... the schooner that ferries travelers from the _north_!"

"The name Joonee, sir, it's not Argonian."

"What is it, then?"

"Gibberish."

"Damn the Nine!"

* * *

_What am I doing here_, thought Spuria. She was perched high in a tree one hundred fifty feet away from Molag Bal's shrine. Several worshipers prayed and meditated in front of the great stone statue of a horned and tailed satyr with the head of a dragon standing on a pedestal with Daedric runes carved into it. Her stomach turned. She could feel the evil. _How could I come here for help?_ Spuria shook her head. It was not worth the risk. She looked down to find a foot hold.

_Approach Bosmer. You've come so far to see me. It would be a pity to waste all that time._

Spuria swung her head around to look for the spriggan. The voice came from within like before but it was different some how. It seemed deeper and more powerful.

_I am Molag Bal. Why have you come?_

Spuria paused for a moment then began to climb down, "Because I'm out of my damned mind," she whispered back.

_Be that as it may, you're here for a reason, mortal. You want something from me. Now I want to know what it is._

She considered just fleeing but she was weak. The Daedric Prince could send his minions to capture her. Legend has it Molag Bal's ritual center around rape and torture. She had walked into a trap without knowing why.

_Approach. I will never attack a woman that comes to me of her own free will._

The Daedra apparently knew what she feared and was most likely lying. But then again he could be doing this every day in every corner of Tamriel. "Get rid of them."

_Fear not. They will obey me._

"They can't be allowed to see me."

The worshipers collapsed in a comma and dropped like stones at the same time. _Satisfied?_

Spuria swallowed hard and climbed down. When she reached the ground every step towards the shrine became more difficult. Everything in her but her burning ambition to do what she felt was right told her to run away. She finally reached the shrine and waited. One of the worshipers snored loudly. The shrine said nothing. She decided to speak first, "There are plans to build a new road that will come very close to this shrine. I think we have a mutual interest is stopping it."

_Do we? _The words were spat at her. _A road could only bring more people to me and thus more mortals under my influence. Why would I want to stop that?_

"The Empire is investing more than it can afford to loose into this project. If it fails at the wrong time it could be catastrophic."

_That is doubtful. You mortals underestimate your own resilience. But this is understandable. You have such pathetically short existences, fragile bodies, and minds so unsuited for perceiving reality and time yet you are still here._

"Perhaps you underestimate the trouble the Empire is in."

_Watch your tongue mortal! I promised you safe passage to and away from my shrine not throughout the rest of your life._

"I apologize, Daedric Prince. What I mean to say is the Empire finances and faith in government is very tenuous. Ruin inches closer every day."

_Is the people's faith in the Empire as gone as your own faith?_

Spuria whispered, "Without the Emperor there is only the bureaucracy and money. Neither provides leadership. Only greed for power."

_You are a very... disillusioned individual, mortal. But tell me why is it so important to you this effort be thwarted?_

"The Empire is doomed. I can see that now. I just don't believe we have to sacrifice more of nature's gifts to it. It only postpones the inevitable."

_Bosmers. If I were interested in destroying the Empire, such as it is, I would first have a means to do so. As great as my power is I must work through mortals that will do my bidding. You do not worship me so I know I cannot rely on your devotion. A tree may, but I cannot. So my question now is: How do you think we can do this? What is your plan? What can you do?_

"I have high office. I'm Secretary of Interior, the office that oversees most of the issues regarding this road. When you get down to it, it goes from my lips, to Ocato, to the Elder Council." _Checkmate_, she thought.

_I see now. Yes. You have revealed yourself to be quite the nexus of possibilities._

"My part in this must remain hidden."

_Hmph. Agreed. You will remain more useful that way._

Something bothered Spuria about that comment. Was he using her for something? "The only thing I know is we must have fear on our side."

_Spoken like a Daedra. I need some time to arrange things. Return to the Imperial City and go about your duties faithfully. The dark skinned man on the ground next to you is Amir. He will contact find you when needed._

"No. Nobody can know about me."

_Amir is my most faithful follower in Cyrodiil and he is a master assassin. He is capable and trustworthy._

Spuria did not believe any rapist could be trustworthy, "Fine, but only him."

* * *

Spuria sat on the balcony of her house in the Temple District. She could see the gate to Green Emperor Way. It had been two whole days since her return on foot from The Great Forest. She stared up at the white tower and wondered what it would like covered in vines and flowers. How long would it stand before being crushed? All her thoughts were nihilistic. She felt as if it was the only way to make a difference. The bureaucracy in place had been there to assist the Emperor in leading the people, not to serve as a leader itself. It would not work. Ocato and the Counts of Cyrodiil were, for the most part, fine leaders. But the Elder Council was too politically diametric. It took a divine emperor just to get them to sit at the same table.

She had no idea what would take its place but she really did not care at this point. She is colluding with a Daedric Prince in what will surely be a treasonous act. That decision seemed so replete with finality she could not fathom making too many more important decisions. Her fate was sealed.

A knock sounded off her door downstairs and her maid answered. She recognized Servantius' voice. Heavy armored boot steps clamored up the stone stairs to the balcony. "I'm out her Servantius."

Servantius emerged from the door carrying a package, "Spuria, I came as soon as I could." His expression was full of worry. "I feared the worst when my men reported they had found your horse."

"I'm fine now. Thank your men for me, by the way, for tending to his wounds and returning him to the stable."

"The least we could do, my lady."

"Servantius, knock it off."

"Huh?"

"I'm not some hapless damsel in distress needing a knight in shining armor. I'm a battle mage. I know you mean well but damn it, you don't know how condescending that stereo type is."

Servantius laughed and sat on the banister, "You're right. I'm sorry. What were you doing out there?"

"I was investigating."

"What did you find?"

"Not much. Lazare Milvan acquired a silver mine at what will be the southern end of the road. What did you find?" Servantius handed her the package which she opened.

"We found that at the book printer. It appears to be an original or the prototype for the plan. There's notes written all over the margins, pages torn out, and pages glued in. They are instructions for the printer."

She turned the brown leather book over in her hands. It was larger than the white book but it was definitely about the White Road. The text was hand scribed, not printed. "The original author's name has been scratched out."

"Indeed. There is no way we can identify the author. I think Motierre stole these plans from someone and added information to them later to suit his purposes."

"He stole them. This is amazing, Servantius. This is all we need!"

Servantius held his hand up, "Slow down, Spuria. We can't use this book as evidence."

"Why?"

"The job of acquiring it didn't go smoothly. Some guards were knocked out in the process and the... contractor had to cover his tracks. But somebody, somehow, in Anvil has caught on."

"Who?"

"Hieronymus Lex. He thinks the Thieves Guild did it. But he doesn't even know what _it_ is. Lex is pursuing this relentlessly though. He has locked down Anvil with curfews and logging which citizens come and go through the city. He's had every merchant and business take a complete inventory and submit them to his office. He turned Brianna Cross Inn inside out. For Oblivion's sake, he even sent riders to the Kvatch camp to shake people down. This morning he sent a formal request to the Imperial Palace to interrogate the Chorrol guards. He's obsessed!"

"He can't do all of that."

"I know. I imagine he's being reprimanded by Count Umbranox as we speak. And nobody believes him. But he's turned up the heat. If that book surfaces he'll find out. Then it will be our word against Motierre's. We have to admit to being thieves. He can still deny it."

Spuria looked like she had been struck by a hammer, "But if we leak it..."

"If we leak it the claim has no credibility. Nobody will vouch for the accusation. If the author wanted to press charges he would have done so already because the rumors about this road have already circled Nirn twice. Spuria, we have to let this go for now."

"What!?! We can't!"

"Itius and I discussed this, Spuria. This is what watchmen do. This bastard is up to his eyeballs in guilt. If we watch him long enough we'll catch a break. I already have it arranged."

"How long do we wait?"

"Are we in a hurry?"

Spuria covered her face with her hands, "Fine. Never mind. Take this useless thing." She tossed the book onto the floor.

Servantius frowned before stooping down to retrieve the book. He walked off of the balcony but paused at the doorway, "Are we trying to stop this man or are we trying to stop this road?"

Spuria did not answer.

* * *

Charred and withered the once powerful spriggan laid on the ground. It wished it was dead; thought it was dead. Truly it was thankful the flames had stopped but did not understand why. She tried to move but it hurt too much. She felt as her limbs were all twisted and tangled about. She tried to open her eyes but they were fused shut.

"Chryse, wake up!"

The name brought her out of her stupor. She still could not move but her mind was alert as ever. Only one being has called her by her name. Her father, Molag Bal.

"Wake up, I say!"

_Was he here on Nirn_, she thought. A slow moan emanated from the slit of her mouth, "Leave me to die. I hate you more than I suffer." She felt his tight grip on her neck and was lifted effortlessly. A piercing sensation on her face made her scream until she heard a snap and could see again. He had pried one of her eyelids off.

"Look around, you are dead."

He was right. They were in his plane of Oblivion. The only place he can manifest physically. Beyond his ugly twisted dragon's face was an exact replica of Nirn except for the freezing cold, the acrid air, and the swampy burnt ground. Souls were screaming in the distance. She looked down only to see a mess of burnt roots that used to be her body. "I'm ready for my eternal torture, Dad."

Molag Bal dropped her into a pile on the muddy ground, "It warms my heart so much to hear you address me that way."

"I am serious, demon."

"Too bad. You are going back and this time you will do my bidding."

"What do you want?"

"It is interesting how fate unfolds. I thought you were going to bring a reign of terror over Tamriel when I created you. It wasn't but a century when I had disregarded any hope for you to do anything but prance around the forest. But now you have brought me a most delicious surprise."

"What do you mean?"

"The Bosmer woman you attacked. She's mine now."

"She died?"

"No. She came to me. She came to me with a deal. She wants to save The Great Forest, of all things."

Chryse scoffed, "She's a man-beast. She cares nothing for The Great Forest!"

"Oh but she does. She cares just as much as you. But unlike you she has vision and focus!" Molag Bal stamped her head deep into the mud with his hoofed foot. "You are going back and you will be her familiar. You will protect her when called upon at all times and will do so to your death. At which point I will reincarnate you and place you back on Nirn."

"I would rather suffer here as I am than live as a slave."

"No! You want to do my bidding! You will help her with her quest to save The Great Forest or I will burn it to ashes."

Chryse looked at him with her one working eye, "I help the man-beast save the forest or you shall burn it down in front of her... what sense does this make?"

Molag Bal stomped on her again, "My motivations are not for you to worry over. Don't strain that brain I gave you. You haven't had it for long. Will you do my bidding now?"

"Yes, if it will keep you away from me."


	5. Chapter 5: Assemblance

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 5: Assemblance

Nerva Egnatius, captain of Sixth Legion's First Cohort, strode through the Imperial Prison gates with measured steps and ramrod posture. The rising sun cast long shadows and caused it to be quite dark on the ground. As he moved through the courtyard he sized the prison guards up. They were tough enough, he thought, but something about the grind of prison guard life had sapped the vigor out of them. First Cohort had just completed their training cycle. They were _full_ of vigor and zeal. Ready for whatever awaits. But that was his unit, not himself. Nerva had no idea what awaited him today. He was aggravated that Major Quintilius ordered him away from base camp. Although training was complete he still had to refit some of his artillery and secure new horses for the cavalry. He was not too worried because the First Cohort always had first choice to whatever was available at the time but procrastination and delays grated against his soul.

He stopped in front of the city watch captain's office, removed his helmet, and knocked the customary three times on the door. Although his blonde hair was too short to move anywhere he quickly smoothed it out with his free hand.

"Enter," said Servantius.

Nerva opened the door and marched five steps inside. He came to attention and saluted. His helmet was folded into his left arm at his side, "Captain Nerva Egnatius, reporting as ordered sir."

Servantius returned the salute, "At ease. Captain, may I present Imperial City watch captain Itius Hayn."

"Good morning, sir." Although he was given the order of "at ease" Nerva took the position of parade rest with his feet a shoulder's width apart and his right arm folded behind his back, palm out.

"Thank you for arriving so quickly, Captain," continued Servantius. "I know how nice that little honey moon with the men is after a training cycle."

Nerva smiled, "They're just happy I'm not shouting drill orders every time they see me now, sir."

"Oh yes. I remember well. But we have an important matter to discuss. What do you know of the White Road?"

"Only what I've read in the Courier, sir. It will connect Chorrol to Skingrad, it will be in our area of responsibility, and it will be used to rebuild Kvatch. The Elder Council is currently deliberating the proposal."

"The deliberations were concluded last week, Captain. The road will be built. Many of the preparations were preapproved by the Council."

"That is exciting news, Major. Astonishing really; it took them less than four months."

"I've called you here today because I want your cohort to be in charge of security for the construction of the road."

Nerva frowned, "But sir, First Cohort is a combat unit. The elite of your legion. With today's political climate we may need to deploy at a moment's notice. Summerset Isle, Hammerfell, Valenwood: any one of these provinces could become a major military issue."

"Captain..."

"Fifth Cohort has finished their training cycle. Eighth and Ninth can postpone their cycles. Wouldn't they be better suited?"

"Captain Egnatius. I am fully aware of the disposition and readiness of _my_ Legion. I chose you because you are the best and the smartest leader I have. You should know originally security was to be handled by the city guards of Skingrad and Chorrol. But I, for the lack of a better term, lobbied very hard for this duty."

"Why, sir?" asked Nerva in complete bewilderment.

Servantius dreaded this question, "Because I have very strong concerns regarding some of the... circumstances of this project. If it were smaller in scope I would let it go but the Empire is fully invested into the success of this road and the reconstruction of Kvatch. It is one of those times when doing something right is extremely difficult, Egnatius. This is something with which we are all familiar, given our roles as leaders and protectors."

"What concerns are those, sir?"

"The construction site itself is surrounded by many dangers and is quite large. It will need the defense of a military unit. Beyond that I am suspicious of the Chorrol city watch and the main advocate of the project, Francois Motierre. We have doubts about his intentions and we have proof of lies and crimes on his behalf."

"What can my cohort do about this, Major?"

"Your cohort will do nothing about this. They will carry out their duties with no knowledge of this. But you must keep your eyes and ears open. And you must also work with some spies we will plant throughout the labor force."

A sly grin cracked Nerva's serious demeanor, "Ah, The Blades. It will be an honor and a privilege to serve with them."

Servantius took a deep breath, "No. The Blades have not been chosen to perform this duty. It has been decided to choose people more independent." There was no good way to break this news to him, "Amusei, Dynari, could you come out please?"

Nerva watched curiously as two commoners walked down the steps. The woman, Dynari, was an Imperial and the man, Amusei, was Argonian. "Amusei? Amusei, the thief Hieronymous Lex was trying to find?"

"Yes, these two are members of the Thieves Guild. They have been contracted to work with us."

"But, sir, this can not be the way! They should be rotting in a cell downstairs!"

"Well this was a great idea," said Dynari.

"At least we won't have to walk a long way in shackles to our cells," hissed Amusei.

"Some of us aren't as used to that as you are, Amusei," Dynari replied.

Servantius held his hand up, "Nobody is going to jail. Captain, we have negotiated some favorable terms. I wish you will listen to them before making any judgments."

Nerva scowled, "I'm listening, sir."

"One, these two will organize a network of laborers that will report to you anything suspicious. Two, they guarantee to not only ensure no thievery exists at the camps but in both Chorrol and Skingrad as well. And three, they have agreed to follow your orders. I have talked at length with them how fair and thoughtful you are. They will be loyal to the job, their code, and you."

"They'll follow every order except, 'go home'?"

"Precisely."

"If the Elder Council has decided that this is the best course of action then I will obey."

Servantius let the statement hang in the air. Only he and Itius had any idea they were using the Thieves Guild. The Imperial government had no idea he was taking this action. Spuria probably assumed he would use a government agent or Blade. The guild most likely assumes they are being bankrolled by the Imperial treasury and not front money from Itius's network of confiscated wealth and informants. "It would be absolutely best that this matter is not discussed elsewhere. Secrecy is paramount."

"Understood sir."

* * *

The crowd thundered with enthusiasm inside the Arena. A minotaur had been set upon five convicted felons. The minotaur was armed with silver war hammer. The felons, three of which still survived, were given spears and swords. The great minotaur stood in the center of the Arena craning it's head left to right. Gore from one of its previous victims dripped from its horns onto the sand. Its bulging muscles twitched and flexed as it decided on which man to hunt next. All three felons hid behind different columns. If they had fought as one in the beginning they would have had a chance to live. Instead they fled to save themselves and allowed the monster to kill them one by one.

A Khajit tried to scamper up his column. The minotaur saw this as an invitation to attack. He swung his hammer in a wide arc and threw it at the column. It smashed against the stone with a loud clang and the Khajit lost his grip. He landed on his back and quickly flipped back on to his feet. The minotaur had spanned almost the entire distance between them in that small amount of time and its massive body collided against the hundred seventy pounds of fur and flesh that was its target. The Khajit's body was shunted several yards and it landed spread eagle in a large cloud of dust. The broken man tried to breath and regain his sight. His head shook back and forth desperate to get the rest of his limbs to move. The monster readied to charge again and gorge him to death.

Spuria sat in the box reserved for Imperial government officials. She was glad to have it to herself but just below her she could here a hand full of Elder Council members carry on in their luxurious suite which was almost ground level. A wine rack was kept always stocked in the box and she selected a Tamika wine for herself. It had been a long day as a cog in the Imperial bureaucracy. These days she barely paid attention to her decisions. Most of her department worked on preparations for the White Road. She simply signed off on whatever they prepared. The end of her day was a budget meeting.

She could not wait for the gladiator events to start. Her favorite gladiatrix , Davina the Death Bringer, was set to perform. Spuria always tried to come to Davina's events but it was a hassle. Davina was very beautiful despite her years of deadly combat. The men flocked to see her in the hopes her breasts would spill out of her garb along with someone else's blood out of their neck. It was probably no accident they were usually rewarded with both.

"I didn't know you enjoyed this sort of thing, Spuria."

Spuria turned in her seat, "Chancellor Ocato, are you here to see the Death Bringer's nipples as well?"

Ocato snickered, "My wife would hire her to gouge out my eyeballs like she did with Mad Marcus. No, I came to see you. I wanted to speak with you after the budgetary conference but you left so quickly."

"What do you want to talk about?"

Ocato shifted uneasily as he sat across the table from her and poured himself a glass of the Tamika wine, "Well, many difficult decisions were made this year. I wanted to know if you had anything to say about it."

Spuria shrugged, "What's there to say? We all know what's going on. My soil conservation program doesn't have enough money to transport the dirt. I don't have enough alchemists to test fresh water sources near livestock farms. There's scores of other things that to a layman look unessential but when crops start dropping yields and outbreaks of diseases occur it will seem obviously essential. But if I can slip into a proposal the two words, 'White Road,' money appears out of thin air."

Ocato nodded, "These are the things I need to hear, Spuria. It was the reason I brought you into the administration. You tell the truth of things. You're not afraid to stick your neck out like the rest of the bureaucrats."

Anger flashed over Spuria's face, "Why, so that you can ignore me and put your conscious at ease at the same time!?"

"I..."

"The whole thing is bloody asinine!" Spuria jabbed her finger at the Chancellor, "Productivity is up, labor is cheap, and demand is up. It's all in black and white. The wealth exists but it's being horded by the nobles and the merchants! All we have to do is not tolerate it." She turned her head away with an exasperated sigh, "Did you need to hear that?"

"Yes," Ocato replied solemnly. "You also needed to say it. Spuria, this is hard for me to say but I will try my best. I know all of this has made you very despondent and unhappy. If you want, I could arrange for you to go back to the Battle Mage Corps. You can't be the Corps Magister but I can promise you a prestigious position."

Spuria stared into the sand of the arena. The match was over and the beast handlers tried to corral the minotaur. If they failed the Arena kept a large number of archers on hand. The crowd took bets on how many volleys were needed to kill the beasts. "We're about to witness an act of honesty that never happens in politics, Chancellor. We always say we're working together, trying to work together, or are looking forward to working together. But that never happens. We're always against each other to one degree or another. Our commitment is always partial. Isn't it?"

Ocato closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

"It isn't that way in the Arena. Both opponents are clearly stated, their commitment is total, and there are no bogus intentions. 'I shall spill your blood and you shall spill mine until one of us is empty.' In the Corps we were very much a part of the same team and many times we had an opponent to say these things to. Sure, there were all kinds of trickery and deceit involved at a tactical and strategic level but in the grand scheme of things you agree upon that same principle."

Spuria said nothing for a while but finally turned to Ocato and said, "Thank you for the offer. It's touching that you're concerned. But I don't want to leave my office. I'm not failing at my job. I can still do more good for Cyrodiil here than I can elsewhere." Spuria chose her next words carefully, "This land is my home and I still owe my loyalty to it. Before, all my fights were chosen for me, now I must choose them for myself... and choose wisely."

Ocato remained quiet. He placed his hand on Spuria's shoulder and squeezed. For a moment she forgot it all. The road, the money, Motierre, and the Daedra were all replaced by that old feeling when Ocato had been a father figure to her. He let go, it all came back, and she felt sorry.

He stood up and straitened his robe, "The Elder Council is in recess, administration business should be at a minimum until we start breaking ground; why don't you take a vacation? Let's say, for one week."

"Well there are some other things..."

"That was an order, battle mage."

"Yes sir," Spuria smiled.

"Besides, you were robbed of your last vacation. That was horrible."

_If only you knew_, she thought.

"Why don't we arrange a night for my wife and me to come over for dinner. So you'll have company."

Spuria kept smiling, "I appreciate that offer but I must decline it as well." She already had a plan for companionship.

* * *

"I'll tell you the best cut of meat. Oh, there is nothing as succulent as the tenderloin, my friend. You find in many taverns these big chunks of meat and as long as it's big enough and covered in juice or a marinade, the customer is fine; especially if they're getting hammered at the bar. But for me, just give me two inches of that perfect medallion! You see the tenderloin is this long muscle that flanks both sides of the spine. It has no fat to it. _None_. The muscles don't support any weight so they don't get as much use as a rump or a brisket. That means it's tender like veal but just as dense as beef. Now the tenderloin is a little different to cook than other steaks. If you want it's full potential, that is. First get the fattiest piece of bacon you can find and wrap it around the outside of the medallion. It doesn't have any fat on the inside so you'll need to borrow some to keep it from drying out. Next you season it, but not too much. A little salt, a little pepper, and a little cumin and that is absolutely it on each side. Then you throw it on a skillet with oil that's reached its smoking point. For two minutes. No more than two, alright? Flip it for another two then pull it off. You relax the meat for ten minutes. Just let it sit out. That allows the juices to draw out of the center. Then you put it in a blazing hot oven for ten minutes. But when you do, push the wood or the coals to one side and put the meat on the other side. You don't want..."

"Will-O!" shouted Kurz gro-Baroth. "Stop yapping with my damn horse and get your freaky pyro arse over here on the double! What in the Oblivion you gotta say to my horse any damn way? It looks like you're scaring the crap out of him! And that's a battle hardened stallion." Kurz, along with his Orc brother Lum, had been contracted to guard the Flamma Vigoratus mages at all times. They were to escort them everyday to the work site and monitor them as they cleared forest until the engineers told them to stop. Then they were to return immediately to a guard tower that had been converted into a very cozy dormitory for their exclusive use. It was also a holding cell thought to be impervious to their destructive power. The Flamma Vigoratus were never to stray from the Baroth brother's sight unless they were in their dormitory.

They were outside of the Chorrol city walls by the stables waiting for their carriage. The brothers were issued two full suits of enchanted Daedric armor which were completely resistant to fire. The armor alone was worth a fortune but they were being paid four times their normal rate in addition to this. Meeting the Flamma Vigoratus made them think twice about how much the job was worth.

When Kurz shouted at the one named Will-O he did not obey immediately. He looked to Ailill Ciardha, a Dunmer Flamma Vigoratus mage that was the team leader. Ailill beckoned Will-O and he quickly scuttled across the grass to where everyone else was waiting. There was no telling what race Will-O was. His entire body was charred black from head to toe. His coal skin was cracked in places and in these places was raw pink flesh that oozed yellow lymphatic fluid. His eyes were bright white and beady. Will-O was not his real name. It was the short version of his nickname, Will-O-the-Crisp (a reference to the very dangerous floating orbs). The only thing to be sure about him was Will-O was the most powerful of the four and utterly insane. The other two members were an Imperial named Thracius and an Altmer named Erindul. All four mages wore dark brown robes and hoods that were trimmed in silk and gold. The two Orcs had not been acquainted with them long and they were already pissed off.

"It's day one and I'm already pissed off!" yelled Kurz. "You, Crispy, you follow the green skin orders, not the blue skin." Kurz pointed back and forth between his own face and Ailill's, "Do you see that? The green, not the blue."

Ailill remained calm, "The Countess said..."

"The Countess said a lot of touchy feely things this morning but let me distill it down for you. We're in charge. She called you our _charges_. I'm modifying your social status as of now. You're now our _prisoners_! You have no freedom while this county is shelling out the septims to you. You got that, freaks? You're prisoners on a pay roll; the only thing that keeps you from being called slaves. Nobody likes you and sure as Oblivion nobody trusts you. Lum, do you have anything to add?"

Lum, decided to wear the helmet of his new armor. He looked like he just stepped out of an Oblivion portal. He tapped the head of his ebony war hammer against his shoulder, "One of ya'll makes the wrong move an' I'm breaking me four skulls."

"Very pithy, my brother." Kurz placed his hands on his belt, "Hell, if we got paid as much as them I'd guarantee to have the entire damned forest leveled by next moon." It was an ironic statement for Kurz's weapons of choice were axes... many of them. He kept a long headed throwing ax on his left hip, an ebony war ax on his right hip, and a huge double bladed battle ax made from enchanted volcanic glass slung on his back.

Kurz and Lum heard the clomping of many horses galloping up the Black Road. Kurz turned to watch the riders approach. Lum's eyes remained fixed on the mages. They fidgeted under his demonic gaze. The horses came into view bearing Imperial Legion soldiers. One was dressed in command armor. They stopped in front of Kurz. The soldiers eyed their armor. There had always been a stigma with Daedric armor and, to a lesser extent, Daedric weapons in the Empire. But after the Oblivion Crisis it was extremely taboo to don Daedric armor. Kurz enjoyed the look of fear and disdain on the soldiers' faces.

"Hail fighters, I am Captain Nerva Egnatius of the Sixth Legion First Cohort," said Nerva.

Kurz gave Nerva a lazy two fingered salute, "I'm Kurs gro-Baroth, and this is my brother Lum." Lum did not turn to greet the Captain, he made a slight gesture with his war hammer.

Nerva's eyes darted back and forth between the mages and Orcs, "These are your charges?

"We're calling them prisoners now."

Nerva paused for a moment, "In any case, if you lose control of them for one second I shall order my men to kill them without hesitation. Which will effectively end your contract."

"You'll have to get in line, pal."

"Good day, gentlemen." Nerva kicked his spurs into his horse and the rest of the riders followed him into the open city gates.

Kurz leaned close to his brother, "Guess who stores his lances in his butt."

While the Orcs bantered back and forth about the Legionnaires Ailill spoke to his fellow mages, "Pay no attention to that Orc's blustering. They can put anybody in that infernal armor. We are valuable." He turned towards the great forest, "By the Nine, do you see all that? Do you smell all of that?"

Will-O smiled broadly and wide eyed, "_Fuel_..."

* * *

"We should have broke ground at the end of last month. Rain season is fast approaching."

"Speaking of which, do you know how easy it will be to add an aqueduct to the road?"

"If we did that we could build sewer systems for Chorrol and Skingrad."

"That's getting ahead of ourselves. We're throwing this together at a break neck speed as it is."

Mariana Anicetus listened to the various conversations at the table. She, with the other members of the Imperial City Engineer Corps, was waiting in the royal banquet hall of Chorrol. The dishes and centerpieces were replaced by drafts, charts, and manuals piled up to three feet high. Her specialty was surveying. She had already seen the ridge and taken a preliminary survey.

Today held some excitement for Mariana. Francois Motierre, the project manager and advisor to Countess Valga, was holding their first official meeting. Ever since she saw the plans she wondered about who came up with the project. The way it was organized, the format of the figures, and the illustrations all reminded her of Etzel Ferrer, her first instructor during her apprenticeship. Soon after her apprenticeship was over Etzel left the city. The other engineers joked about him becoming a hermit. They did not understand why he would give up his life to live in the wilderness. Mairara thought it was a combination of fatigue and distress over his failed marriage. She knew he loved the city. He just lost sight of things.

Francois Motierre entered the room. He patted his brow with a fine handkerchief, "Greeting engineers. Sorry for being tardy. We just had our first labor meeting. It's so nice to be in finer company." Quiet laughter rose up in the hall. An Imperial Legionnaire with short blonde hair entered the hall behind him. "This is Captain Nerva Egnatius of the Imperial Legion. He is in charge of security." The soldier nodded slightly as the two men took their seat. "Are there any questions before we begin?"

Mariana spoke up, "Sir, many of us are wondering who originally drafted the plans. It is extremely fine work."

Francois froze in his seat. He looked down at his hands then up at the table, "The plans were contracted from a couple of people but... the main planner... wishes to remain anonymous. He is retired and does not want much attention. Being interviewed by the Courier will dampen his mood."

Mariana nodded and said nothing further. Francois answer made sense to her. But she still wanted to talk to Etzel.

"Well... if that is all, we'll get down to business. There was an issue with flooding at the quarry but we will still be able to start on time. Finished stones will start arriving on site next Fredas..."

The remainder of the meeting Nerva was lost in his thoughts. The woman engineer, Anicetus, roused the issue at the forefront of his legion commander's paranoia regarding the project. She seemed pleased with the answer; as if she knew whom he was talking about. But Francois hesitated. Did he hesitate because he stole the plans or did he actually know the original planner and was indeed protecting his identity? Nerva had a mind to ask the engineer bluntly who she thought the planner was but Major Servantius would not approve. He would send word to Amusei to have the engineers watched; especially Mariana Anicetus.

* * *

Contained chaos seemed to be the guiding logic in the labor camp. It was located between Weynon Priory and Odiil Farm across the Black Road from the beginning of the construction site. A chow hall was already constructed. It seemed large enough to serve roughly one third of the labor force at a time. It was the center of the camp. Adjacent to it was the wash room and the infirmary; both were temporary buildings. At the four corners of the camp were watch towers for the legionnaires. At the rear of the camp at the base of a hill was the outhouses. Inside that perimeter was open land to set up provided tents. This was where the chaos laid.

Laborers had trickled in at the beginning but now they were arriving by the bucket load. The early arrivals had staked out large areas of the camp site and pitched their tents in a way to give themselves extra room. New arrivals quickly ran out of space and had begun to complain.

Nerva Egnatius observed the campsite from a peak alongside the outer city wall. He had with him his lieutenants and a small cadre of guards. Earlier in the day several laborers complained about the living conditions at the camp to Francois Motierre. Nerva just happened to be there at the time. Down below he could see laborers squabbling. A woman was yanking tent stakes from the ground. A Nord shoved a Dunmer around while shouting at him. Timber for a bonfire was being assembled. None of this would do for the Captain. He turned towards his legionnaires, "Now for the last bit of business today." They marched towards the labor camp with Nerva in the lead on his horse. Once they reached the perimeter Nerva said, "Fan out and round them up by the chow hall. Keep weapons sheathed at all costs."

Legionnaires barked orders at disgruntled laborers to meet at the center of the camp. Some of them were defiant but a threatening glance or a raised gauntlet was all it took for them to comply. In a few short minutes the laborers were assembled into loose ranks. All eyes were on the Captain.

Nerva removed his helmet but stayed on his horse, "Citizens of Cyrodiil let me begin by apologizing on behalf of the project management. A mistake was made with the foremen contracts and that is why nobody was here to organize the camp as you arrived. I have made a personal plea to the project manager, Francois Motierre, to take charge of the camp. He has graciously accepted my offer." Some murmurs were muttered amongst the workers. "I realize some of you have a problem with this. I understand. I promise to always keep in mind that this is a labor camp not a slave camp. Should my men infringe upon your rights or your well being the matter will be dealt with swiftly. You have my word as a soldier. The Imperial Legion has been constructing camps for centuries. We know what we are doing."

He took a look at the assembled workers. They were paying attention. Now to hit them with the bad news, "Tonight I will draft a set of orders and duties that shall be performed every day. Leaders will be chosen to ensure these are carried out and the leaders will be accountable. Before nightfall we must get these tents in order. Further more, to promote quality of life, we will segregate the camp by sex. In the Legion we are trained to be professional about sex integrated units but even we still have... challenges."

Some snickering arose from the crowd. Then somebody said, "How's bout we segregate by race?"

"Negative!" shouted Nerva. "Who said that? Step forward!" Not a peep was made. One of Nerva's lieutenants pointed at a large man with long black hair and brown eyes. Nerva placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Imperial, front and center." The ranks parted and the man made his way to the front one half-step at a time. He stood at the front with his hands on his hips but apprehension shimmered in his eyes. Nerva brought his horse so close to the man he had to move out of its way.

Nerva looked down, "I said this was not a slave camp. That is true. I'm not here to tell you what to think of each other. But you will work and live together in relative harmony or you will be gone. I have the authority to terminate the contract of any worker who threatens the security of the project and that includes those that sow discontent. Do I make myself clear?" The man said nothing. "I said, do I make myself clear!?"

"Yeah-yes sir," replied the man with a quaking voice.

"Get back in ranks." While the man hurried back Nerva said, "Also, speaking of quality of life and living in harmony, my men will enforce hygiene standards at camp and at work. Starting tomorrow night there will be an instructional class on these standards held every night. By the time construction begins everyone will have attended." He scanned the ranks, "I'll need two leaders. One for both sexes." Nobody stepped forward. Nerva shot his gauntleted finger out and pointed at Amusei, "You, Argonian, what's your name?"

Amusei spitefully swiped his tail against the ground, "Busy-Rough-Hands, sir Captain."

Nerva wanted to roll his eyes, "It's just sir or Captain. You shall be in charge of the men tonight until I better organize the workers. Do I have a volunteer for the women?"

Thankfully, Nerva saw Dynari step forward, "Thank you my lady. You two will assist my men in tearing down the tents and resetting them according to Imperial standards. Tomorrow morning you will set an example to the others. You'll be on latrine duty. Carry on."

* * *

Spuria stood naked and covered with sweat at the window overlooking the moon light soaked landscape of the Heartlands. She rented a room at the Sleepy Mare's Inn in Pell's Gate. It was hot and humid. Crickets chirped and mating calls sounded. The land teamed with life. She wanted to be out there; part of it. But she would not be welcome. This area had some voracious nocturnal predators. Namely the land dreughs. The locals called them "Billies" for some reason. These creatures were mainly seaborne but for approximately one year of their lives they undergo a temporary metamorphosis and become land animals. They were molting their chitinous armor during this season and were extremely hostile.

It was the third night of her vacation. She had enjoyed it more than she thought. She had underestimated how much her mood could improve simply by putting distance in between her and the city. She felt strong hands on her bare hips and a scratchy chin on the nape of her neck.

"Can't sleep?" asked Servantius.

"Don't want to. The more I sleep the more of my vacation I give up." She turned towards him sliding her body against his until their chests were firmly pressed together. They kissed deeply.

Servantius and Spuria had been seeing each other intimately for two months. After their disagreement over how the book should be handled Spuria decided it would be best not to use Servantius for her plans. Why should she if she had a Daedric Prince as an ally? She would, however, keep an ear open for any inside news about the project. Which she frequently received. But she did not want to think of any of that now.

Pell's Gate was a convenient place to meet. It was close enough to the city but modest enough to ensure nobody they knew would rent a room next to them. They had agreed to keep their relationship secret. They did not want to draw scrutiny to themselves.

They finally broke their kiss and Servantius said, "Come on over to the bed and I'll give you a massage." She took one last glance outside and walked over to the bed. She laid face down into the pillow. Servantius's naked thighs straddled hers. He began to knead the already relaxed muscles in her neck, "We should have done this a long time ago," he said.

"Why didn't we?"

"I never knew what the right time would be. The loss of you're husband was devastating to you. I also wanted to honor his memory."

"So did I, but I realize now he would want me to be happy."

"Are you?"

Spuria purred, "Of coarse I am."

"Now you are. But what about other times? When we're away from each other."

"You mean when I'm not in the throws of passion?"

"I mean when you're living out your life." He felt her muscles tense. "What's it going to take, Spuria?"

"I... I don't know. At best it feels like I float through the day. I detach myself from everything. At worst... it feels as if I'm the coulter of a plough trying to till up ground from Oblivion. Ocato offered to reinstate me in the Battle Mage Corps."

"Maybe you should take his offer."

"I turned him down. It would feel like I'm retreating from my duty."

Servantius grabbed her arm and knee to gently turn her over, "Shouldn't we have something else in our lives. We're not getting younger."

"You would leave the Legion?" She asked sarcastically.

"I could have retired last year. Maybe we could head east. Buy a plot of land by Cropsford. Kill the occasional troll."

"That sounds nice." They always talked like this after sex. It felt right to do so. But Spuria knew nothing they said was serious in this context.

The next morning both were up bright and early. Servantius had to get back to the city for Legion business. He quickly dressed in his armor as if he was performing a drill. He always did that. Spuria lethargically dressed in a long green skirt, sandals, and a plaid patterned blouse. She brushed out her long brown hair while Servantius watched her impatiently. They left the inn together. Spuria walked Servantius to his horse. He kissed her goodbye, put on his helmet, mounted his horse, and left without looking back. He was not her lover at the moment. He was an Imperial Legionnaire. For now, that is how she preferred it.

Spuria returned to her room and began to pack. She mused over what she would do that day. She settled on fishing off the bank at Weye just West of the Imperial City. Her things were packed when a knock came at her door. She opened it to find a dark skinned Redguard standing there. His eyes were dull with fatigue and his face drawn. He wore leather knee high boots, tight black pants, and a blue jerkin. Spuria's hair on the back of her neck tingled. He looked familiar but she could not recall his name. A bundle was folded under his arm.

"Spuria Cominius," said the man, "I am Amir. My master demands your presence."

Now she remembered. Amir the Daedra worshipper. Amir the assassin. Amir the rapist. "There goes another vacation," she said.

"We have something to discuss. May I enter?"

"I think we can talk right now."

Amir pushed into her room and closed the door behind her, "That was Servantius Quintilius, the commander of Sixth Legion, was it not?" He spoke so softly she barely heard him.

"It was."

"You said nothing to my master about this?"

"I don't think it's any of his concern."

"You're sleeping with the Major in charge of security for the project."

"My relationship with him is a personal matter."

Amir studied her face, "So you have received no information from him? It's all personal."

Spuria tried to not give anything away but it was obvious to her that Amir saw through her, "He used agents to find evidence that the plans for the project have either been stolen or at least plagiarized."

"Anything else?"

"His man at the site has taken authority over the labor camp. Look! These are all things that happened _after_ I came to the shrine. It wasn't my idea to sit on my thumbs and sign off on everything for the road until construction began; which happens next week." She sneered at Amir.

"Well in any case my master bids your presence. I have a horse and wagon. We will go under the guise of married farmers bringing melons to Skingrad. We live near Bravil." He looked her up and down. "What you're wearing is fine. Meet me by Fort Homestead an hour from now."

A while later Spuria and Amir shared a bench seat of splintered wood rocking side to side as the rickety wheels rolled over the cobble stones of the Red Ring Road. They had several bushels of ripe melons in the back. Amir looked convincing as a farmer. He wore a straw hat, overall pants that were frayed at the hem and thin at the knees, and in his mouth was a piece of raw sugar cane. He even smiled when pretty birds flew close by. Spuria in contrast was tense. The ride was uncomfortable, the company was deplorable, and they were on their way to have congress with a Daedric Prince. Before they departed Amir debated with Spuria about keeping her silver short sword off her person. She, however, kept it. Along the way Amir kept saying, "Easy, it's only a part. We're on a stage and we're playing a part. Just slip into it."

They came to the last bridge before the road turned from West to North. It spanned the width of the White Rose River. Amir squinted and said, "Damn. I think I see some one in the tree."

"I don't see anything."

"He pulled his leg in. We might be heading into trouble. Remember to stay in character until the last possible moment. Chances are they'll let us pass and wait for somebody richer."

"Let's just go around," said Spuria.

"No. They'll chase us for sure if they think we're getting away to report them to the legion patrols. Just hold back until they start attacking. If they do, take out the tree first."

"How do you know it's more than one?"

"Shh! Let me do the talking."

They slowly trotted past the tree and started crossing the bridge. Below them someone shouted, "Now!" Two brawny Nords emerged from under the bridge at the far end. Both were dressed in full heavy orcish armor. One carried a shield and bastard sword and the other held a Daedric claymore aloft. Three more men came from under the end of the bridge they crossed. A very spry Bosmer pulled himself up from the side of the bridge on Spuria's side. He had elven daggers in each hand.

"Whoa!" said Amir calming the horse. "Honey it'll be alright."

It took Spuria a second to realize he was talking to her, "I'm scared... dear." She tried to look anything but angry. She managed to wince.

A grizzly bearded and bald Imperial walked over to Amir. He was armed with a heavy mace which he allowed to dangle on a leather strap attached to the handle, "Well met, stranger. What're ya hauling." His breath smelled like rotten meat.

"Oh, please sirs," Amir groveled, "don't hurt us. We're just poor farmers. All's we gots is the melons and some money to sleep at the inn."

The man nodded, "Alright. We don't want no trouble either. You got anything else of value?"

Amir rocked nervously back and forth, "No sir."

"You two married?"

"Yes sir, twenty two years."

"Where's your wedding bands?" The bandit gently held Amir's wrist and brought the trembling hand in front of his face.

"We had to hock'em this year for the harvest."

The bandit made a gesture to one of his men who jumped into the back of the wagon and began throwing melons onto the ground. Some of them bounced with a thud, others smashed open. The bandit continued, "Damn, hocked the rings. These are tough times full of tougher decisions. And you decided to hock your rings before that flashy sword over there." He pointed at Spuria's sword.

"Oh! Weapons... you can have them. I got my dagger behind..."

"Don't touch! Both of you put your hands on your head!" Spuria and Amir did as ordered. The bandit tore Amir's purse off his belt. He opened the small pouch and rattled its contents, "Bout three score septims in here, huh boy."

"Yes sir."

"Slowly hand me that dagger you was talk'n bout."

Amir produced an old iron dagger and held it by the blade with his finger and thumb. The bandit snatched the dagger and threw it over his back without a thought. He turned to another one of his men at the rear, "Watch him." He looked at Spuria. "And now for you." He walked around the horse patting it firmly on its breast. He stopped at Spuria's side. "Let's see that sword now."

Spuria unbuckled her belt and handed it to him. She replaced her hands on top of her head.

The bandit pulled the sword half way out of its scabbard and whistled. "That's some mighty fine hardware mis'ess. Where'd you get that?" He dropped it back into the scabbard.

"My father," Spuria replied flatly.

The man spat on the ground, "Your _father_," he repeated with an aristocratic accent and a mock stately tug at his collar. "You got a coin purse?"

Spuria said nothing.

"Well allow me." The bandit jumped onto the wagon. Holding her sword in the same hand that his mace dangled from and groped her with the other hand. He felt along her arms first then her neck. She breathed hard through her nose and looked at Amir. Amir mouthed the word "no." The assault on her body continued as he grabbed her chest roughly then slid down her stomach. He reached around her back and stopped. "What do we got here." He pulled out a purse five times the size of Amir's and it bulged with mass. The bandit forgot all about Spuria and her body and jumped off the wagon. He opened the purse, "Holly Oblivion, lady. You got... it's like almost a bloody grand here."

She could see from the corner of her eye that Amir was poised to strike.

"Ha! This'll keep us in the wine and women till winter boys!" The men around them laughed. "Here's what I think. I think you ain't _salt of the_ _land_ farmers. That steed you got is a prime specimen, not some crow-bait nag. This purse is big enough to choke a dragon. I think you're the lady of the house and blackie over there works as your servant. That bitch attitude of yours is what gave it away from the beginning."

Spuria looked at Amir who was just shaking his head. "Sorry," she said with a shrug.

Amir's hand streaked across the face of the man to his left. The man's eye exploded all over his face and he shrieked in horror. Amir's real dagger appeared in his hand and he plunged it into his opponent's chest. Spuria grabbed the hilt of her sword which the bearded man still held. She drew it along his throat and a gout of blood erupted behind the shining blade. She kicked him to the ground. An arrow whizzed by her head. She twisted around and shot a fireball at the tree before the bridge. An archer tumbled out head first as the tree caught fire. He unsteadily scrambled to his feet and drew his sword.

The Bosmer with the elven daggers lunged at Spuria. He swung both blades down at her. She blocked one and slipped past the other. She twisted her body and brought her knee to his groin felling him.

"Take the two in the front I'll take the three in the rear!" Amir shouted.

She did not think that was fair since the two bandits charging at her were fully armored and his opponents were not. Spuria stabbed the Bosmer in the heart through his back. The two Nords pumped their legs as fast as they could. The plates of their armor clattered with their pace. Behind her Spuria heard Amir fighting off the other bandits. Her two foes arrived a few paces away from her. They heaved with every breath and perspiration poured down their faces.

Spuria was calm and under control, "You two don't do much running in that armor, I take it. I suppose most people you fight are unarmed and too frightened to flee."

The two men spread out to either side of the bridge and moved towards her slowly. Spuria knew they wanted her in the middle. That is where she stayed. She assumed a low stance with her sword hand to the rear and kept both bandits in her peripheral vision. Her skirt swayed gently in the breeze. The man with the shield gave the other a quick nod. The man on the other side with the claymore quickly wound up for a swing. Spuria threw out her hand at him, "_Pulsus_!" An invisible telekinetic blast pushed him over the bridge railing. He splashed into the flowing river below. Spuria dodged the other's thrust then parried a backslash. He swung so hard it hurt to hold her sword through the impact. She counter thrust to his face. The shield came up to block. She swung down at his forward ankle while he was blind and scored a good hit but his armor protected him. He jumped back, feinted high, and then slashed low as well. Spuria caught his forearm with her off hand. Before she could apply a leveraged trap he muscled out of her grip and struck her in the stomach with the rim of his shield. The blow landed just below her ribs. She doubled over with a wheeze. Her attacker cast his shadow over her. Spuria sprang up, grabbed the bottom of the shield, and shoved it with terrific force between the cheek guards of his helm into his teeth.

The shield was dropped and the man slashed the air wildly as he retreated. Blood gushed from out between his fingers covering his mouth. Taking the moment to regain her breath, Spuria lowered her guard and looked to the river. The man she cast off the bridge struggled against the weight of his armor to stay afloat and paddle his way to safety. Amir fenced with a long sword against his two remaining foes.

"Look here, warrior wench!" the bloodied man pulled his helmet off by grabbing the spindly orcish crest and removed it. "I'm through playing!" globs of blood gleaked out of his mouth as he shouted. He took an ox guard stance with his sword high and pointing at her, the hilt near his ear.

Spuria swept her sword back to a long tail guard. Her lungs stung with every breath but the pain abated with each that passed. The man's bastard sword made a quick thrust at her face, pointed to the sky, then rushed down at her. Spuria side stepped and swung up towards his neck. A quick recoil of his elbows allowed him to block her stroke with the cross guard of his sword. She pulled back but he drove forward unbalancing her. She grabbed the cross guard and rolled to her back while thrusting the man over her with both legs. He landed hard on the stone bridge. They both jumped to their feet. Realizing that her opponent had weakened and lost the initiative she stormed a series of blows against his guard. Finally she caught him on the wrist. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Spuria readied for the killing stroke.

"Stop!" shouted Amir. "Stop fighting!"

Spuria kept her eyes locked on her kneeling victim, "Why?"

"A Legion patrol is coming!"

Spuria looked up. Amir was running towards her. His shirt was torn and there was a gash on his ribs. Beyond him two bandits looked frantically both ways along the road arguing what to do. Beyond them a single Legionnaire galloped at full speed towards them on his horse. His dull grey armor was a sharp contrast to the white stones in the sun light. "So we help him finish these scoundrels off."

"No. We're farmers. Let the soldier take care of them." He tugged at her arm and she stepped away. The man in front of them picked up his weapon and stood. Amir waved his hand at him and said, "_Oestrus_." Green light radiated from his forehead. He looked confused for a moment. Then he shook his head and ran towards his fellow bandits screaming, snatching up his shield along the way. "Get on the ground face down. Don't let him see you."

She laid stomach down but kept watching the scene at the end of the bridge. The Legionnaire now swung a spiked flail in a tight circle as he charged the men. At the last moment he let out the flail on a loose arch and caught a bandit square in the face. His entire body sailed backward through the air. Another bandit slashed at him from the other side but he turned his horse away so that it could kick him. The man was knocked down. The horse turned back towards him and the legionnaire crushed his skull as well. The Nord that Spuria had spared kept charging. The Imperial soldier spurred his horse to meet him. The flail came down again but the shield protected its bearer. Only a glancing blow off the pauldron was scored. The legionnaire dropped the flail and drew his sword. He hacked down at the bandit repeatedly. The bandit's guard was thrown off and was stabbed through the neck.

At the end of the bridge the last bandit emerged from the river bank. His posture was slumped and exhausted. Despite this he raised his heavy claymore and readied for the charging legionnaire. Spuria was not in a good position to see the strike but she heard it and saw the Nord's head flipping through the air as his body flopped forward spouting blood onto the road. She put her eyes towards the ground and maneuvered her hair so it covered her face.

Sergeant Tullus Livius slowed his horse to a trot. He looked down at his kills to make sure they were final. Satisfied that all were sufficiently maimed and bleeding he dismounted and led his horse by the reins to the wagon. His heavy boots slipped a little because of the melon juice on the pavement. By the wagon he found three other dead men. All were slain with fitting brutality. Among the blood and bodies, he noted there were two purses, one small and the other very large. He sheathed his sword and turned his attention to the victims. "Hail citizens. Are you hurt?" A Redguard male clutched his side and an Elvish woman laid face down. Her ears protruded through her soft brown hair.

The man spoke, "I'm hurt she just feinted." The man turned so that Tullus could see his wounded ribs.

"I'll tend to that but we should check her."

"Hurry. It's getting... harder to breath." The man raggedly gasped.

That quickly got Tullus's attention, "Alright. It must be a sucking chest wound. Fear not. We're trained for such a thing." He pulled a tin medical kit from his horse's saddle and opened it up. First he had to examine the wound. A rinsing solution cleared the blood away temporarily. The wound looked like a slash not a puncture. Furthermore Tullus could see no signs of subcutaneous emphysema. He pulled off his gauntlets and felt the man's skin. He leaned in close to listen for air, "Sir I don't think this is a punctured lung. You might be suffering from anxiety. That is completely understandable. I'll have this healed in a moment. Please take your shirt off." He opened a bottle of healing salve and applied it to the wound. "You'll have some bruising for a few days but the pain should be gone."

"Thank you, kind soldier."

The legionnaire smiled graciously, "Just doing my duty, citizen. It's what I'm paid for. But you did well yourself. I see you laid them low thrice and held the others off for some time. How did you mange that?"

"Luck. I got the jump on them. The wife took one of them out too."

"Really? She looks so... dainty. But all Elves look that way to me. Could you lift your arms?" Tullus grabbed a cotton battle dressing and unwrapped its banding. He held the cotton dressing gently over the wound as he wrapped the bandage alternately around the Redguard's rib cage then over the shoulder. "Where were you going?"

"Skingrad. We need to get there soon before the melons go bad."

"I hate to inform you sir, but much of your crop is destroyed. You should ride with me to the city so that we may file a report. You can sell the melons there." On a whim, Tullus pushed the Elf onto her back to get a better look at her. "If I may sir your wife is... wait." He had seen this face before; on the road but mostly in the city. He was quite sure he has seen her in the Temple District. "Spuria Cominius? Lady Secretary is that you?" The Bosmer opened her eyes. Her face strained with worry.

"Ma'am... what are you doing here?"

She swallowed hard, "It's hard to explain..."

Tullus was yanked to his feet suddenly and seized from behind. He tried to bring his arms down but somebody had him in a full nelson. He could feel the pressure of someone's hands on the back of his neck. It occurred to him it must be the Redguard. A strange tingling feeling sprung from his throat. He tried to command the attacker to stop but he could not. He had a silence spell cast on him.

Spuria appeared before his eyes, "Stop! What in oblivion do you think you're doing?"

"He fingered you," said the Redguard. "You have to kill him."

Tullus struggled to get free. He could not get good footing because the Redguard had lifted him off his heels. His steel toes lightly scraped against the bridge. The man's grip was like the jaws of a lion. He looked at Spuria. _Help me_, he thought.

"No! I won't! He doesn't know anything! We can't do this."

"You have to. If I let him go he'll kill us both. Then he'll file it in a report."

Tullus looked at Spuria. She was a politician. Perhaps this man was blackmailing her with embarrassing information. It was the only way to explain the situation to him. He shook his head and pleaded with his eyes. _We can work this out._

"No. Let him go. This isn't the way."

"This _is_ the way Spuria!" shouted the Redguard. "You made a deal with my master. You shall execute his will. You are committed to Molag Bal. It's high time you realized this! He wants your service to him to remain secret. Now do it!"

Tullus's eyes widened. _Dear Nine, this can't be! She's a traitor! I've got to warn the others._ He stared at the traitor in disgust.

Tears ran down her face.

"Stab him under his arm. He'll bleed out quickly."

Tullus thought of his wife and children. He had two, a boy and a girl of teenage years. He promised he would see them tonight. _Why do I always say that to them?_

Spuria grabbed the edge of his cuirass with her left hand and positioned the tip of her bloody blade at his arm pit. She did not look at Tullus but rather at the man holding him.

"Stab upward towards his neck," said the Redguard.

Tullus watched Spuria jerk her body and drive the sword into him. There was a deep shooting pain followed by warmth then numbness. He could not feel his outstretched arm but he could see the blood running down the inside of his armor and leaking out at various points. Spuria pulled her blade clear of his body and turned away. Energy left him in waves and his breathing slowed. The Redguard feeling him go limp released him. Tullus kneeled on the bridge and removed his helmet. Both of them would understand what he wanted. He wanted to die with dignity and with some strength left in him. He just hoped that it would be the Redguard and not the traitor to do it.

* * *

An Imperial legion consists of six thousand armed men and women. A cohort has, typically, four hundred eighty members but the first cohort of any legion has eight hundred. This allowed the first cohort to have a full compliment of cavalry, scouts, and artillery without help from an additional cohort. Nerva reflected on these simple facts as he looked at his legion's camp from outside his tent. He could not help but feel his unit was being wasted out here. Third Legion had an auxiliary military police cohort. To Nerva, they seemed the best suited for the job. If there was wrong doing and subversive plotting afoot they had experienced personnel to actually investigate. But Major Quitilius had his concerns about the project and full faith in his unit. _This is what you get when you're known to be dependable_, he thought.

Their camp was centered on a hill with a ruin of a fort and an extinguished oblivion gate. The Champion of Cyrodiil Merton Balik closed it himself in the last days of the Third Age. Only the specter of the gate bothered him about the location. Blood grass and harada root still flourished at its scorched and ruble strewn base. His tent was made on a remaining platform that overlooked the area. From there he could see all of his camp, the surrounding grounds, the city, and some of the labor camp. He watched two city guards approach the north entrance to the camp. He had an appointment with them to scout out one of his commander's concerns. They had told him not to wear armor.

Nerva descended the stone steps and saluted his guards. He briefly stopped at the cohort mess to pick up a couple of bananas and greet some of his men. They were all in good spirits because Nerva had arranged to rotate everybody out on furlough periodically. He did not need eight hundred men for this mission so he would keep one quarter of them away at any given time. This reduced the cost of deployment and it suited his unit, he knew. They were happy to have the break after their training cycle. But Nerva wished they were doing a northern or costal patrol. What good is a training cycle if you don't get to use the skills you've honed? He made his way through the carefully planned grid of tents and faculties. Sheep were fed in a pen to his left. A blacksmith banged on his anvil to the right. The gate guards opened the rudimentary gate at the entrance. He walked through the dirt mounds that made the gate walls and walked over a draw bridge over the defensive ditch. The two city guards saluted.

Nerva returned the salute, "Good day watchmen, can you tell me why I'm feeling so naked for this excursion?"

One of the guards, a Breton, held out a bundle of what looked to be rags, "We have all the coverage you need, Captain."

Two hours later Nerva was crawling his way to a fallen tree flanked by both Chorrol city guards. They wore some kind of camouflage that was made of strips of burlap sown over mesh netting. They varied in forest colors. In addition the two guards helped him tangle grass and leaves into the suit. He was glad they were far up north or else it would be very hot. He peered over the log to see the village of Hackdirt.

"As you can see, sir," whispered Breton guard, "They've rebuilt all the original structures. A few more people have moved in. They are also having children again."

"And below?"

"It's bad. That's all we know. We think the caves have become more extensive and they're stockpiling more supplies. Also the Brethren have become more active."

"How active?"

"They do the night watch. You can't pass within a hundred meters of here at night without being spotted by one."

"Do they attack on sight?"

"So far they have not. But... we really haven't tested the limits."

"Do you think they've been watching the camps?"

"We have no way of knowing, sir. They can see from very far away in the dark. They are also quick and quiet."

Nerva thought on how this should have been reported to the Legion. "I've seen enough. Let's get out of here." After a distance they were able to stand on their feet and walk freely. They removed the camouflage and bundled it up on their backs. Nerva wore a simple suit of chainmail underneath. He took note of the city watchmen's weapon, "Is that an ebony short sword?"

The guard smiled, "Yes sir, it also has a fire enchantment. It's very nice to have something light and powerful when you're scouting a goblin and ogre infested forest."

"Did you buy it at Battlehorn Castle recently? I hear that's the place to go."

"Uh, it is sir, but I had this before I joined the city watch."

"So you joined recently?"

"Yes sir, they had work and the money was good."

"I see. The money was better than what you were doing before?"

"You could say that sir."

* * *

Amir and Spuria walked towards the shrine of Molag Bal in pitch black night. Both were tired from their long circuitous journey. After killing the legionnaire they gathered Spuria's things, unhitched the horse, and rode it away. Amir steered them down the river to a narrow pass where they crossed then back up the western bank of the river. Then they traveled through The Great Forest to their destination. They made their trip in hostile silence.

Upon arriving at the shrine Amir bowed before it and began to pray. He stopped abruptly, "Get on your knees and pray."

Spuria had been silent so long the words struggled to leave her mouth, "I didn't need to before."

"That was before. This is now." Spuria bowed with Amir and listened as he mumbled Daedric intonations. They did not have to wait long.

_Ah she returns! I am so pleased. You have done well, Amir. How did she do?_

Amir paused before answering, "They were no match for her, master. She slew them quickly and brilliantly. The patrol however was a problem. She required much coercion."

Still bowing, Spuria mulled over the information she had just heard. He did not refer as to _they_ were. "You son of a bitch. You set me up! You made me murder that legionnaire." She drew her sword and pointed into Amir's back, ready to run him through.

"I would put that away if I were you," said Amir without looking up from his prayer.

"You might be able to murder me in my sleep any day of the week but I give myself a better than average chance against you in a fair fight, scumbag."

"So would I. You see, master. This is why I have doubts."

_Now, Amir, this is quite sudden. Spuria, my pet, Amir did nothing but obey my wishes. It is the only thing he does. I had to know if you could be of use. I needed to know how useful you could be. So he orchestrated this test with my blessing. You should be proud of his endorsement. _

"I murdered a legionnaire! They will be after me."

_Yes. You are right. But Amir and I will protect you. I noticed your guilt does not go beyond the consequences of you actions. That is admirable._

"What are you talking about?"

_The soldier. You are worried about yourself and not him._ Spuria lowered her sword with a distant look in her face. _Ah, Amir thinks you do not know what you are getting yourself into. I think inside your heart, which is darker than you like to admit, you do. I think you know what you want but you don't know how to get it._

"Master, there is something else I should say," said Amir.

_Amir, I value your loyalty, not your opinions._

"I understand master but you need to know that she has an intimate relationship with the commander in charge of security for the project."

_Oh, well that is interesting. Do you care to comment, Spuria?_

"It's... he can give us information," she said.

"She's in love with him, master," said Amir. "They bedded together last night. She wants to protect him. She doesn't see that he is a threat to us and our goals."

Molag Bal said nothing for a long time. Spuria began to sob. _Cheer up, Spuria, I have a gift for you._ From the outstretched hand of Molag Bal's statue a white flash appeared. When it dissipated a bronze ring with a large emerald jewel sat in his palm. It slipped off and landed in the soft ground below. She went over to the shrine and picked it up. Amir was smiling.

_I spent considerable effort forging and enchanting this ring. I call it the Ring of Vengeful Nature. It will bestow upon you a freedom you so heartily desire. It will grant you the ability to move about Nirn without fear of predators and monsters. _

Spuria turned the ring over in her fingers. It looked very unremarkable to her, "How does it work?"

_It's two fold, really. It has a strong warding magic that creatures will obey. But should that fail there is a familiar bound to the bearer of the ring. The familiar will alert you of the danger and help if called or needed. Go on. Summon the familiar._

Spuria slipped the ring on. She definitely felt something. Like her heavy conscious was being lightened ever so slightly. She clenched her fist and said, "_Voco continuo_." Roots and vines sprouted from the grass. They twisted over each other with unnatural speed and merged together to form the likeness of a human body. Smoke appeared then a red flash. Standing before her was the spriggan that attacked her months ago in The Great Forest. "This figures."

The spriggan said nothing and did nothing. It simply looked at Spuria.

_This is Chryse. I created her a long time ago. But things didn't work out and she got away from me. Because I am in your debt for her return I thought it appropriate to give her to you as your slave. _Chryse's leaves ruffled upon hearing that.

"_Expulsum_," said Spuria. Chryse vanished in another red flash and smoke. The emerald in the ring glowed slightly for a moment. _What am I going to do with this hellish thing_, she wondered. "Can we discuss business yet?"

_Yes we can. Amir and I have devised a couple of ways to disrupt and halt the construction on the road. The first will be a goblin war of terrific scale. The second will be a brutal incursion on the city of Chorrol._

Spuria waited but when it became apparent the Daedric Prince was done she said, "That's it? Four months and that is all you came up with?"

_They seem small but events such as these are what history turns on. Did you have something in mind?_

"There is an elite cohort protecting that site. A couple attacks won't stop them at all. Should the cohort be totally wiped out there are hundreds that can take its place. Instead of focusing on the bottom, strike at the top as well for Oblivion's sake!"

Amir, rather than praying, faced her, "How?"

She turned to the shrine, "You're a Daedric Prince, are you not? You work through mortals? Can you do the same in other provinces?"

_I have influence in every corner of this world and few you will never see, mortal!_

"Then use it. Apply pressure on the Elder Council and the Imperial government. Starve the beast of its food; money."

"But how do we do that?" asked Amir. "The Empire draws money from so many places in so many ways whatever we can do would be but a drop in the ocean."

"No. Right now there is one major way the Empire is financing itself. Bonds. Bonds which are sold to wealthy nobles, counties, and provinces for a guaranteed interest. Instead of cashing these bonds out at the end of their term or using the interest for spending, the customers simply reinvest in them. The government has a lot of paper coming due soon. After the Oblivion Crisis the Elder Council issued very favorable ten year rates. Right now those bonds are solvent because the expectation is that they won't be converted to septims. If they are wrong on that assumption by just a small amount then they could have cascading financial problems."

_Oh, Spuria. You have darkness in your heart that eclipses even Amir's. Vision beyond your mortal eyes. So be it. _

"But what are the wealthy supposed to do with the septims?" asked Amir.

"Gold, silver, and precious stones. Once the value of the septim goes down the prices of these things will go up. They are not as transportable as septims or lines of credit but that suits our cause too."

* * *

"Come in," said Itius Hayn. Servantius entered his office and smiled as a friend would. Itius wished he could do the same. "Have a seat, Servantius."

"What's this about?" asked Servantius.

Itius had a very serious look about him, "An Imperial Legion patrol was killed yesterday afternoon."

"I heard the rumors. Where did it happen?"

"It happened on the bridge over the White Rose River anywhere from noon to mid afternoon."

Servantius's mouth hanged open, "By the Nine, I was traveling that road yesterday!"

"I know. You were staying at Pell's Gate. I have to ask you some questions, old friend."

"Oh, I see. Yes of course."

Itius held his hands up, "You're not a suspect. We just need some information."

Servantius gave his friend a dismissive wave, "I know that." Both men knew being questioned about a crime was an unpleasant position to be in. It was only natural to feel defensive.

Itius cleared his throat, loaded his quill in ink, and looked up, "So you were at the Sleepy Mare's Inn yesterday. When did you arrive?"

"The evening before; after my administrative duties for the day were complete. I arrived just after sunset."

"When did you leave?"

"I left after nine in the morning. I had a briefing to attend."

"At any time did you see a horse drawn wagon full of melons while you were traveling to or staying in Pell's Gate?"

"Melons? No. Not at all."

"Did you cross the White Rose River Bridge when you returned to the Imperial City?"

"Yes I did."

"Did you see anybody on the Red Ring Road?"

"I saw three patrols, a traveling Khajikt, and a hunter in a tree stand."

"Where was the hunter?"

"He was far away from where I was. I had just passed Fort Virtue. If the light wasn't just right I would not have seen him. He took a position west of me."

"But he wasn't near the bridge."

"No."

Itius took a deep breath, "Were you alone at the inn that night?"

Servantius did not hesitate, "No. I was with Spuria Cominius my entire time there. We've had a sexual relationship for two months."

Itius hated that he had to delve into his friend's personal life this way, "Did you leave together?"

"No."

"Do you know when she intended to leave?"

Servantius thought for a moment, "No. She didn't tell me her plans for that day. She's on holiday right now, you see. I imagine she went on a hike or something like that."

"Alone?"

"She can take care of herself."

"Wasn't she attacked in The Great Forest not too long ago?"

Servantius nodded, "It will take more than that to keep her out of the woods."

"Okay. Is your relationship with Spuria a secret?"

"In a way, yes. But not one worth guarding I think. We kept it between us because she didn't want the attention. She's a widow and there's a certain stigma attached to that." Servantius noticed that Itius did not write that last part.

"Many people think a widow should remain... celibate," offered Itius.

"Exactly. I think she just wanted to avoid that attention."

"Okay. One last question: Do you know where we might find Spuria?"

"I would not expect her for three days, when her vacation is over. But if she saw something, Itius, she would go strait to the authorities."

"I know good friend. Just a question I had to ask."

"So what have you found out about this murder?"

Itius sighed with great relief, happy the interrogation was over, "It's really strange. The legionnaire was Sergeant Tullus Livius. He failed to report in so a party was sent to search for him. They found that he was killed execution style almost half way across the bridge. He... left behind a wife and two kids."

"Dear Nine," whispered Servantius.

"But that's not all. There were seven dead bandits on the bridge with him."

"Seven! Well he certainly put up a fight."

"I don't know Servantius. The whole crime scene is weird. Tullus was a highly decorated soldier. He might have killed all those men if they weren't well trained. But the disposition of the bodies makes no sense. Destruction magic was also used. He didn't have that kind of training in his record. Remember the question about the melons?"

"Yes."

"It looked like a farmer was ambushed on the bridge and Tullus came to the rescue. But there are no farmers to be found. Three of the perpetrators were lying close to the wagon carrying the melons. But it's hard to determine if Tullus killed them. He would have to be on the wagon at some point for two of them were attacked from the front while facing the wagon. And then there is the manner of his death. Before Tullus was beheaded he was stabbed very deeply through the armpit. Not many people would know the armpit as a vital target to attack. Even those with much training; which these men clearly did not have."

Servantius shrugged, "Any prisoner that's been locked up for more than petty theft would know that attack."

Itius rubbed the back of his head, "No. So far we haven't any prior convictions on these bandits."

"None?" said Servantius incredulously.

"It's common these days, friend. A lot of people have taken to lawlessness."

"Perhaps it was a member of the band that had more training and got away?"

"That's what the reports are suggesting. The only fleeing tracks found were from the horse pulling the wagon. And those went cold just a short distance down the river bank. But I don't subscribe to the 'Big Boss' theory so easily." Itius looked out his window in thought. "These bandits share their combat knowledge quite readily in my experience. It's one of the ways they brag amongst each other."

"What about the owner of these melons?"

"Yet another big mystery. We've sent inquiries to every merchant and farmer east and south of the Imperial City and so far they are all coming back negative. Nobody has seen a wagon of melons and nobody knows of any missing farmers."

Servantius pondered all of the information, "So the farmer got away or it was the 'Big Boss' who took the farmer hostage. A farmer that so far doesn't exist."

Itius nodded with a dark expression on his face, "Somebody killed one of us yesterday, my friend. And he is an evil, elusive, and dangerous bastard."


	6. Chapter 6: Breaking Ground

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 6: Breaking Ground

Countess Arriana Valga stood on the southern city wall of Chorrol in between the main gate tower and the south eastern tower. She wore a gown of red velvet and purple silk trimmed in burgundy lace. The brisk morning air sent the occasional shiver up her spine as she peered through the heavy stone parapets. She looked past Weynon Priory to the labor camp. Even from here she could see it was at full capacity and jostling with activity. She could make out tiny laborers leaving and entering the dining facility for breakfast. She supposed she would have to visit there once construction began to make a public appearance. The countess turned her attention south to the Legion camp. They had finished their breakfast two hours earlier. The Legionnaires went about their watch duties, exercised, and other military duties with due diligence.

The door to the south eastern tower opened. Two city guards escorted Francois Motierre to meet her. Francois looked more affable by the day. He was less nervous, less reticent. The fame and fortunes she had bestowed upon the man were being put to use. He held majestic parties with nobles from Chorrol and Skingrad, chatted up reporters from _The Black Horse Courier_, and was even beginning a charity foundation. Today he had on a fine black felt doublet, a blue silk shirt, and matching cotton pants. He bowed graciously and said, "Good morning Countess Valga, how may I serve you."

She returned her bow with a slight nod, "I wanted to have a discussion, Mr. Motierre. Guards, leave us." The guards bowed and left the two alone. Francois waited confidently with a slight smile and his hands folded behind his back. "Mr. Motierre," she continued, "Next Fredas is the ground breaking ceremony. We will soon be reaping the rewards of your great plan." Again Francois bowed. "After much contemplation I have decided to honor you on that day with the title of knight, thus admitting you into the ranks of the nobility class." She turned her eyes back to the labor camp.

Francois shut his eyes as if he was savoring an ambrosial aroma. "Thank you, Countess Valga. I haven't the words to express my gratitude."

"Then allow me to express mine. This is a vexing development before us, Mr. Motierre."

"Madam?"

She pointed at a column of marching legionnaires leaving their camp and making their way to the labor camp. "Do you know what these soldiers are about to do?"

"I'm not quite sure, Countess."

"Today is the first day of the laborers formal military training."

"Oh, yes! I remember. Captain Egnatius said it would help keep order in the camp and promote esprit de corps amongst the workers. They were frustrated to learn they weren't allowed inside the city except for Sundas. He told me this would keep the laborers busy in their free time and allow his foot soldiers to remain sharp by teaching others their skills."

"Do you agree with him?"

"I think he knows what he is doing, madam. He's done a fine job so far."

She glowered at Francois, "Yes, he does know what he is doing. Sometimes I wonder if _you_ do."

Francois began to sweat, "Uh, madam?"

She took a deep breath, "I fought very hard to retain control over security, Mr. Motierre. But alas, when it came about that Sixth Legion would take over I resigned to it as being unavoidable. The loss of control over labor, however, was avoidable. At least it would have been if my project manger was doing his job."

"Madam, I..."

"Perhaps," she interrupted, "had you not been occupied with social gatherings and the like this could have been prevented. Perhaps if your plans were as thorough as you purported them to be last year we would have had our foremen managing the laborers. Perhaps you are the wrong man for the job after all." During the last sentence she drew out the words slowly and quietly.

"Countess Valga," his voice quaked with fear, "the unskilled labors are paid for by the Imperial government. I... I thought it wiser to allow..."

"What do you think is going on in the world around you, Francois?" She only received a blink in response. "These are tumultuous times for the Empire and everybody is looking out for their own interests. _Everybody; not just you!_ Every county is taking assurances. Our interests, should the government dissolve, rest here, with Skingrad, and with Hammerfell. We cannot have interlopers probing us. Yet everyday I receive reports of questions trickling in."

"I have not heard any questions, madam."

"Most likely because many are about you. Others are about our relations with Battlehorn. This needs to stop, Mr. Motierre. Not everyone can hide in plan sight as you seem to do."

"What would you have me do, your highness?"

Her face darkened and a growl in her voice came out, "Get rid of them. Both camps. Get them away from my damn city. Get them out of my county if at all possible."

Francois turned white. He had worked, cajoled, seduced, and murdered his way to the present situation. Despite his efforts it seemed to be a miracle that he could accomplish so much. He looked at the two camps for a long time. The legionaries and laborers combined were over two thousand people. _Where were they going to go if not here_, he wondered. The plan was so brilliant and efficient because most of the labor and materials traveled downhill along one path as the road was built. "How much time do I have?"

"Before something jeopardizes my throne or I simply become weary of this sight."

Nothing was said for a long time. Francois and Valga did not look at each other but were discordantly aware of the other. Their thoughts were so obvious they might as well have been shouting them. Finally Countess Valga spoke, "There is a reason I chose to tell you this and announce your knighthood simultaneously. Do you know what nobility is beyond a title with which to amend your name?"

"Nobility is a culture of civility, honor, and respect, madam."

She shook her head and smiled, "If you are to be a successful noble, as I need you to be, Mr. Motierre you must take those notions and blow them out of your arse."

The profanity stunned Francois, "Madam, what do you mean?"

"Listen closely, for what I am about to tell you is the harsh truth. Nobility is stabbing a brother in the back and the eulogy you give him becomes his legacy. Nobility is maintaining a facade of dancing at a great party in a royal court when in reality you're engaged in a frantic fight for your life in the middle of the Arena. It is having other people serve your interest while giving them in return nothing more than the means to serve you. It is the acquisition and exercise of power over those who are weaker. All of the privileges should pale in comparison to the responsibilities and duties assigned to the struggle within this hierarchy. And the privileges are great, are they not? Nobles can buy finest clothes and foods. They can build monuments to their legacy for all to see. With enough wealth and clout they can court the youngest and freshest teenage maidens." Countess Valga now smiled with her pearly white teeth showing, "I chose to bring you into this small circle of people because I was quite sure of two things."

"What were those?"

"That you were an ambitious man that can deliver what he promises and you can operate in the noble class with the same understanding of it that I have. Are you that person, Mr. Motierre?"

He thought of his mother and Etzel Ferrer and said with resolve, "Yes, your highness, I absolutely am."

"Good. For some nobles are content and lazy. But I must keep them for now. You, on the other hand, are expendable. If you fail me I can break you much easier than I created you. But if you can get these people away from me and complete the road you will be well favored in my eyes."

"I shall not fail you, my lady."

"I hope so. You may take your leave."

Francois slowly turned and made his way to the south east tower. Upon opening the door Bittneld, Captain of the Guard, pushed past him with a grimace. He trudged his way to the queen and saluted, "You called for me, Countess?"

Valga waited for Francois to shut the door to the tower behind him, "Yes. It's a little too late but I want all the guards to bear standard Imperial arms from now until the Legion is gone from our doorstep. Do not tolerate any protests. And if our _special_ guards give you any trouble cut them loose; all the way."

* * *

Spuria slept in a tree near Molag Bal's shrine. She found a split that made for a nice resting place when she used her rucksack as a cushion. Although she was a hair away from being a fugitive she rested peacefully. As if she belonged where she was. She had not felt that in many years. Something stirred her awake. Scanning the ground below, she saw nothing. She turned her body towards the shrine. Amir was there looking for her. She climbed down to meet him.

Amir had been awake for over two days and the strain had finally bested him. He was ready to fall over, "You have an alibi now. A man saw you fishing near Weye yesterday about the time of the attack. You caught some fish and brought them into the woods with you to eat. There's an extinguished fire to help confirm the story."

"Who saw me?" Spuria asked.

"A contact of mine, Rowley Eardwulf. He has long black hair and he's a Breton. But if asked say you saw him from a distance and can't be too sure of his race. He was wearing tan linen pants and a black shirt. He'll be credible enough. Now if you'll excuse me I need to sleep." Amir unwrapped a bedroll.

Spuria sat on a bench in front of the shrine, "Is he watching us now?"

"I doubt it. Daedra power isn't infinite. He can only divide his attention a limited number of ways. He'll be busy carrying out your plan."

She detected jealousy in his voice, "Does that bother you?"

"It's not my decision, lady." He pulled his boots off and slid into the bedroll.

Spuria looked at the ring on her hands and flexed its fingers open and closed, "This ring is doing something to me, isn't it?"

Amir turned away from her, "Wouldn't know."

"I can't believe I'm here. I've fallen in with Daedra lords and rapists."

Amir turned back to her annoyed, "Now that you have been taken under his wing, so to speak, you could show some more reverence. He's gifted you an actual daedric artifact. I've nothing like that to show for my devotion and loyalty."

"He's repulsive. All of you are."

"Well since we're so far beneath contempt why don't you find another Daedra to worship after this is done?"

"He would kill me... or rather; he would send you to kill me."

"Not if you had the protection of another Daedra. I was not raised at this altar. For a long time I traveled to find the right Daedra for me. Molag Bal was the first I deemed worthy of my service."

"And with it came the benefits of ritual rape and killing."

"Call it what you will. By now you can see it doesn't distress me. As I was saying: you should take a pilgrimage to Azura's shrine in the north eastern Jerral Mountains. It's cold up there but you might find her more to your liking. Either that or become a nun and never leave a Divine Nine chapel."

The suggestion did not seem to be a bad one to Spuria but she thought of another reason why he would offer it, "Then you would not have to deal with me."

He kept himself from smiling. In the short time that he has known her, Spuria had been nothing but a chore for him. Amir turned away and closed his eyes, "Others will come here to worship soon. You should leave."

* * *

Inside the Elder Council Chambers Chancellor Ocato massaged his temples. He sat at the council table in his assigned place. On the council docket that day was a beginning plague outbreak in Bravil, aggressive political moves in Morrowind, and increased pirate activity in the Abecean Sea. All this however had been trumped by the report that lay before Ocato and the other council members. A towering woman with bright red hair named Ortrun Protz had presented the report on request of the Elder Council. A small group of agents had been assembled to compose it. The report, which was self explanatory, read, _Report to the Elder Council on the Champion of Cyrodiil_.

For a long time in the council a flame of suspicion burned for the champion's increased absence from Cyrodiil and his financial wealth from his business, Dragon Trust Inter-Provincial Trade Company. It culminated over a year ago when they commissioned this group upon receiving information that the champion had visited Cloud Ruler Temple, headquarters of the Blades and the grandmaster denied it. Now fuel had been dumped on that flame.

Council members argued, pleaded, and plotted with each other around the great stone table. Chancellor Ocato had the power to call the table into order but he wanted to revisit some parts of the report which began as:

_Purpose:_

_To ascertain the whereabouts, activities, intentions, loyalties, and capabilities of Merton Balik, Champion of Cyrodiil, and compile them into an accurate and concise report for the evaluation and use of the Elder Council._

The first part was a quick summary of the Champion's feats during the Oblivion Crisis and some of his exploits during what the author Alessia Ottus dubbed his questing years. Most of the beginning was well documented. But as the report went on it did not have the air of an accurate account. It seemed full of hyperbole and much of the evidence was anecdotal:

_A question that has recently been raised in some corners of Cyrodiil is whether or not Balik is excessively violent. Vampires, Daedra, unnatural monsters, and goblins do not garner any sympathy but other fully sentient Nirn races do. There lives no bandit or criminal that accosted Balik. Not a single ambush survivor, not a single thief turned over to Legion patrols to be jailed._

Ocato wondered who would ask a question like that other than the more paranoid members of the council. The report went on to talk about his company:

_Dragon Trusts main activity is business investment. Merchants and commoners can seek low interest loans and non-secured debenture bonds in the home office or provincial offices. The bonds can be low or high yield but despite being unsecured they are regarded as risk free as Imperial sovereign bonds because of Dragon Trusts' and Balik's reputation for generating revenue. _

To say Dragon Trusts' bonds were as "risk free" as sovereign bonds was a large leap in conjecture. The Empire had been managing it's wealth for four centuries and Dragon Trusts had not yet celebrated it's first decade in business. But what caused the hysteria brewing in the chamber was this excerpt:

_It is our theory that Balik has established relations with local governments and authorities all over Tamriel and is using Dragon Trusts IPTC financial activities to leverage favors out of them. Dragon Trusts can undercut loan rates and exceed bond yields of Imperial financial products. This is causing a shift of investment within the provinces and subtlety decreasing Imperial provincial treasury revenues. Financial gains of this kind can buy much loyalty._

_Our analysis also leads us to believe the stockpiling of enchanted and powerful weapons is no accident. It is of little coincidence that Cyrodiil finds itself rife with these types of weapons now. We believe black market arms deals based out of provinces are providing everybody from peasant farmers to bandit ring leaders weapons powerful enough to kill an ogre in one stroke. Many of these weapons could be coming from Dragon Trusts' warehouses._

It also went on to make a laughable claim that a new merchant fleet purchased by Dragon Trusts, which might double as a privateer force, could serve as a credible invasion threat. These charges, as far as Ocato was concerned, were outrageous charges.

The palm gavel to call order was a simple cylinder carved from Akaviri skarn stone said to be taken during the invasion of Uriel Septim V. He lifted it shoulder high and slammed it on the table. The room was startled by the break in council etiquette and quieted immediately. "Although this report if full of pertinent information I do not believe it reflects the true nature of the Champion's intentions. Lest we forget that he was hand picked by both our emperor and our savior to carry the Amulet of the Kings and take on the most important quests of our time. Only through removing the context of this man's character, to which I alone here can personally attest, can this speculation that is termed probable be anything other than absurd."

Ortrun, the presenter of the report spoke, "None of us can truly know what is in the heart of another person, Supreme Chancellor."

Ocato smirked, "You get a better idea of it by talking with them rather than digging through their trash and collecting folk tales, Agent Protz."

The agent bristled at the remark but held still, "Then what do you propose?"

Ocato looked around the room. A lot of chin scratching was taking place. "If action is needed it cannot be based off of this report. If we are not willing to address these issues with the Blades or the Champion directly then we should wait until more substantial information is available."

Ortrun looked to the ceiling of the chamber hundreds of feet above, "That information may not be timely."

"Well if you have not guessed yet, agent, I am betting you are right." Observing, this time, proper council etiquette Ocato lightly rapped the gavel on the table once, "This issue is concluded the next issue is plague in Bravil."

* * *

It was in the early evening but sooty clouds had brought darkness to the Imperial City. Lightning flashed over the foothills of the Jerral Mountains just north of Lake Rumare. Rain fell lightly as Spuria made her way over the bridge to the Imperial City's main gate. Commoners and traveling merchants hurried across to avoid the coming thunder storm. Spuria walked at a medium pace allowing her green cloak to become saturated for the bridge took several minutes to cross. Along the way guards were posted on either side. As she approached the third and final great arch she saw a legion guard who did not have a mirror guard on the other side. This one leaned against the handrail and seemed casual.

Their eyes met and he tilted his head, "Secretary Cominious? Spuria Cominious?"

Icy fingers seized her heart, "Yes, I'm Spuria Cominious."

He looked to the weeping sky, "Ha, thank The Nine. I've waited all day for you. Ma'am Itius Hayn, Imperial City Watch Captain, would like to speak to you as soon as possible."

Molag Bal and Amir had tested her loyalty to them now it was time to put their loyalty to the test, "Is it serious?"

Spuria could here the rain pelting his heavy armor. It rang with a calm resonance, "Apparently not. He understands that you're on vacation. His instructions were to escort you to his office or allow you to go home and he would meet you there."

It felt as if a bull had been lifted off her shoulders and the sun shined upon her face she felt so relieved. But she kept her composure, "I see. Well tell him to give me an hour. I'm very tired and need to eat and freshen up." The young guard saluted and ran towards the gate.

An hour later she could here lighting crackling and thunder rumbling outside her home. It was decorated in the typical Imperial manner but with many potted plants. Her maid had prepared tea and biscuits for two at her parlor table before leaving for the night. After her bath she debated with herself on what to wear. She finally decided the most natural thing, given her fatigue, would be to wear a comfortable robe. And of course she could adjust the size of the neckline which was always a good way to distract a man from any serious discussion.

A sharp knock came at her heavy oak door. She opened it and along with the howl of the wind and the smacking onslaught of falling sheets of rain was Itius Hayn. "Please hurry in, watchman," she said.

"Thank you, my lady," he darted inside. Itius shook off his cloak and hung it on a hook near the door. Water streamed from it. He was not dressed in his armor; merely the pants and gambeson that went under it. The gambeson was brown and smelled a little of sweat. "Pardon this intrusion, my lady, but I have a few questions I must ask."

"I understand. I have some tea and biscuits prepared at the table for us."

"Excellent. I'm starving." He pulled from the inside pocket of his cloak a leather bound book, a quill, and ink bottle. They sat and got their refreshments and stationary in order. Spuria concentrated on keeping her hands still. "Ma'am, have you heard about the murder on the White Rose River Bridge?" He readied his quill for her response.

"No. No I haven't. I've been traveling a little during my vacation. I camped in The Great Forest last night."

"The murder took place yesterday sometime between noon and mid afternoon. It was an Imperial Legion patrol."

Spuria covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers, "My word. The guard outside the city said it wasn't important. That's terrible." She prayed that her act was convincing. There was a reason she never did theater during her schooling years.

"Well a murder of one of my brothers is always a grave matter but this meeting is simply for background information. Where were you yesterday around noon?"

"I was fishing near Weye."

"Was anybody with you at the time? Did you speak with anybody?

"No but I did see a man around the village from where I was."

"Do you know him?"

"No. I only saw him."

"Did he see you?"

"I think so but I can't say."

"Could you describe him for me?"

"He had dark hair. He wore a black shirt and tan... maybe white pants. He didn't look like merfolk to me."

"Okay. Did you see anyone while traveling on the road?"

"Well I didn't travel on the road per say. I traveled along the water banks."

Itius raised his eyebrows, "It's dangerous to travel off the roads alone, my lady."

"The banks are pretty safe. The only animal you cross most of the time is a mud crab and those are easy to spear." She pointed to her weapon rack which was on the opposite side of the door from her coat hanger. On the rack were two magical staffs, an elven bow, a quiver, a steel dagger, and her silver short sword.

"They make for good eating as well. So did you see anybody at all?"

She thought for a long time. She tried to recollect if she and Amir had passed anybody. But they had not. The Red Ring Road was curiously empty that day, "I don't think so." She took a sip of tea.

"At any time did you see a horse drawn wagon carrying melons?"

She looked up from her cup, "No."

He nodded absently, "I just have a couple more questions to ask." Anxiety crept into his voice, "Where were you the night before the murder?"

"Well... the night before last I stayed at Pell's Gate."

He paused for a moment, "Was anybody with you?"

"Uh... well," Spuria stammered a little wondering if somebody saw her with Servantius or, worse case scenario, with Amir, "yes. I was with Servantius Quintilius."

To Spuria's surprise it was Itius's turn to be relieved. He sighed heavily and said, "Yes I know. He told me about you two." He smiled.

"Oh?"

He leaned in close while taking a bite out of a biscuit, "Off the record, my lady, and personally, I think you two make a great couple and shouldn't be ashamed whatsoever."

"Well thank you."

"You have nothing to hide. Not from each other and not from the public. It's not like he's your commanding officer or you have jurisdiction over him."

"Not everyone would agree on that account," she said.

Itius gave a dismissive wave, "Don't heed the busy bodies." He gathered up his things, "That's all the questions I have for now. I'll be in contact if I need anything else. Unlikely though."

Spuria knew she had to be careful with her next question, "If I may, how close are you to catching the murderer?"

"It is an ongoing investigation, my lady. I can't comment on its progress. But I will say we will find this bastard and when we do, justice will be served swiftly." A flicker of determination showed in his eyes. He walked to his cloak, "It's a shame we had to meet this way, my lady."

"Yes it is."

"Not just the murder investigation. We should have met at a dinner or at the Arena. I'm married. Servantius and you and my wife and I could have done something together." He pulled his wet cloak on, "How about next month we have a cook out at my cabin?"

"You have a home outside the city?"

"My son maintains it while my wife and I are away. It's north east of the city off the Blue Road. Actually there are several homes being built around it. It won't be long before that area is a hamlet unto itself."

"That would be nice," she said truthfully.

* * *

The upper chamber of the western wall tower in Chorrol was now the dormitory of the Flamma Vigoratus mages. Everything except their mattresses and seat cushions were stone or metal because the authorities were afraid of them burning down the city or worse. They had no books, no papers, no fireplace, and no drawers. At the moment they sat in a circle in the middle of the floor grinding away at ingredients with mortars and pestles. The mages were preparing potions to enhance their destruction capabilities and renew their powers at the job site. The steady clinking echoed in the sparse dwelling all day long. They could hear the wind howl through the parapets of the tower above.

Thracius, the Imperial, stopped grinding and stared into the wall for a moment, "I want to go out."

"You're hungry?" asked Ailill. "I'll tell the guards. What do you want brought up?"

"No. I'm not hungry for food I'm hungry for air. I can't stand it in here any longer."

"Come now, Thracius. We knew what we were getting into from the beginning."

Thracius stood and paced the small room, "Like Oblivion we did! I didn't know we'd be terrorizing the city just by being here. I didn't know we'd have stinking Orcs telling us what to do. I didn't know we'd be prisoners."

"We are not prisoners. We are free men. These are just the terms of our contract."

"No! Kurz was right. We are prisoners. The money doesn't change that." Everyone stopped grinding except for Will-O.

Ailill stood nose to nose with Thracius and stopped his pacing, "Damn it Thracius, we have yet to begin working. You need to calm down and focus on what is important."

"How I feel is important, Ailill. Tell me that you're not feeling the same way."

"I do. But the money and the fact that we are _working with regular people_ again is more important. If we cannot do that then there will be no hope for us to be anything more than recluses and miscreants. Just like all of the other Flamma Vigoratus. Society will fear us too much. If you were listening to Kurz did you miss the part where he wants the slightest excuse to kill us?"

"No."

"The captain said it as well. That decision didn't take a second to make."

Thracius pulled at his hair, "At the very least can we walk the wall when we want? Can we go somewhere on Sundas when there is no work?"

Ailill shook his head, "I don't think so. We have to work within the contract..."

Erindul who had been intently watching the exchange spoke, "We can make an appeal to the Countess. She seems to be on our side."

Thracius nodded, "Or at least she will listen if she thinks we could go crazy for being locked away up here."

"That sounds like a threat, though, Thracius."

"You're the diplomatic one, Ailill, make it sound nice when you tell her. What do you say, Will-O?"

Will-O had not stopped grinding. He continued to eagerly twist the pestle, "I'm fine with whatever you decide as long as we get to do what we came here to do."

Ailill eyes narrowed, "Alright. I'll see what I can manage."

* * *

The next morning Spuria roused from her sleep before dawn. Her slumber was fitful and full of nightmares that she struggled futilely to recall. She threw off her bed cover, wrapped her robe around her, and stepped out on her balcony. The rain was gone but the musty dampness hung in the air and steamed off the stone buildings around her. A city watchman carrying a torch in full armor clattered along the pavement below her. She had two full days left of her vacation. Last night she decided it would be easier to stay out of trouble if she stayed in the city but something within her screamed to get out. But she thought it better not to.

She returned to her bedroom and opened her cedar wardrobe. _Perhaps Servantius will be available today_, she hoped. It would also be nice to see him after what she had been through the past two days. Selecting leather pants, a brown shirt, and her leather boots she thought about everything that had transpired to this point. It occurred to her that she needed to gain some kind of control over her situation. As it stood she was doing what others wanted. She has been promised something in return; chiefly the end of the White Road. But the prospect of this dimmed every day.

Now dressed, she left her home for Servantius's residence. It was in the same district two blocks from her own home but to call it a house was a stretch. It was more of a duplex. She had to climb a set of steps to the second level of the building to reach his front door. In a way it reminded her of the homes in Bravil, only made of stone instead of rotten wood. It was situated near the south watch tower along the dividing wall. She used the brass knocker and waited.

A moment later Servantius cracked the door open cautiously and looked her up and down, "Spuria? What are you doing here so early?"

"I had to see you," she replied.

"Oh, well come in. Have you had breakfast? The griddle is hot and ready."

"No actually I haven't yet."

He let her in. Servantius had obviously been exercising. He had a towel draped over his neck and he held the ends of it over his sweaty broad shirtless chest. He wore a loose set of cotton pants that left little to the imagination as to what was underneath. "I, uh... I'm sorry. I smell a little right now. I'll be right back." He left her in the parlor/kitchen/living room.

She heard him washing himself at a basin quickly. Spuria walked around the room. It was sparsely decorated. He had a wall dedicated to Legion memorabilia. There were citations for bravery and zeal. Swords and other weapons mounted on commemorative plaques gave a hint of his expansive career. A battle standard from his days in Fort Ebonheart hung in the middle of it all. "Itius Hayn talked to me yesterday about the murder."

"Isn't it dreadful?" he said from the wash room.

"He didn't share any details. Do you know anything?"

"I know this bastard is going to swing for what he did. I'll hang him from the White Rose River Bridge myself!"

Spuria looked at the floor, "I'm sure."

"But as far as the murder goes it's baffling. A wagon full of melons seemed to have been ambushed by seven bandits, many of which were well armed. At some point the patrolling legionnaire came upon them. But exactly what happened isn't clear." He quickly emerged, freshened up, from the washroom and walked directly to his cupboard. "I have eggs, sausage, rye bread, and raspberries. How does that sound?"

"Delicious," she forced a smile.

"Anyway," Servantius continued as he made breakfast, "they don't know who attacked first but it looks like whoever drove the wagon killed at least two of the bandits. Maybe more. The bodies were all over the east side of the bridge. A couple at the beginning and the rest scattered near the wagon. Some of them were obviously killed by the legionnaire. The horse was stolen and the tracks disappeared south of the bridge. Very confusing."

"Do they have any suspects yet?"

The griddle spat at him as he placed the sausages, "No suspects, no witnesses, no murder weapon, and no theory. But here's the weird thing. Whoever was driving that wagon had to be a merchant or farmer. It was too big of a haul for somebody's family garden. Yet no missing person report has been filed." He whisked away at the eggs.

Spuria wrung her hands anxiously, "Well what does that mean?"

Servantius turned towards her, "I, and the rest of the Imperial Legion, hope it means nothing. We hope it means a hermit farmer got kidnapped and is still alive." He dumped the eggs onto the griddle and used a spatula to keep the mixture away from the sizzling sausage. "Because the only other explanation is that the driver wasn't a farmer and Tullus stumbled on to something bigger. That and the driver very well could have killed him. Itius has decided to allow the Black Horse Courier to run a story in tomorrow's issue. He hopes that will turn something up. Sometimes it does." As the eggs began to set, Servantius sprinkled herbs on them with his fingers.

"Tullus?"

"Sergeant Tullus Livius. I never served with him but I have heard of him. A fine legionnaire and a family man to boot." He shook his head solemnly. "But enough about that, let's talk about something else."

"Itius asked me if I was with somebody in Pell's Gate."

"He asked me the same. What did you say?"

"I told him the truth and he said you told him as well."

"Good. Very good. I must admit, I was nervous about how you would handle that question. If you didn't tell the truth it would have made things difficult to say the least."

"He said we have nothing to hide. That we shouldn't care what others may think."

Servantius began to plate the breakfast. He sprinkled the raspberries over the eggs in a moderate attempt to a fancy presentation like the chefs at the All Saints Inn did. He set the plates on the table then went to retrieve the bread and silverware, "What do you think of that?"

_Well I'm a Daedra worshipping, traitorous, murderer whom you want to hang publicly_, she thought. "Let's do it. Next month he wants to double date with his wife and us."

He smiled, "I'm glad you said that." Servantius walked over to her and gave her a long hug. They sat at the table and began to eat.

Spuria wiped the corner of her mouth lightly with a napkin, "So let's do something together today."

"I... can't. I'm busy."

"All day?"

"I have to leave the city in about two hours."

"Oh. Where are you going?"

Servantius sighed, "I'm going to Chorrol for Legion business."

"I see."

"Damn it," he winced. "I knew that would kill the mood."

"Mood? What mood? We're talking about murder today. Chorrol is simply fitting."

"See... I _knew_ you would start on that." He stabbed hard into the eggs with his fork.

Spuria held her hands up, "I didn't say anything Servantius. Just calm down. We are two adults."

"Alright. I'll be in Chorrol until after the ground breaking ceremony."

"Are there any problems?"

"Nothing serious. Captain Egnatius wants to brief me on some of the things he has found. Countess Valga sent a letter to the Elder Council. She's not happy with us taking over the labor camp. I'll try to assuage her concerns."

"And figure out what she's up to?"

"A little of that too."

* * *

A few hours later Spuria was once again in The Great Forest. Sunlight pierced the green canopy with radiant golden beauty. The problems troubling her this morning seemed to melt away. She knew it had something to do with the ring. It was changing her. She always enjoyed being in nature but she never craved it like this. The forest also seemed to give her strength and revitalize her.

After saying goodbye to Servantius, who she now thought of as her boyfriend, she returned to her home. The thought of not seeing him until the destruction of The Great Forest began pushed her to leave the city for the remainder of her vacation. She laid out her mythril armor, her cloak, her rucksack, some provisions, her saddle, her bow, and her sword (which a small part of her now thought of as the murder weapon). But after assembling all these things she just looked at them on her bed. None of it seemed necessary to her anymore. The ring would take care of her. Or so she thought. Molag Bal would never in a million years gain her trust but for some reason she trusted in his ring. So she left everything but the cloak, sword, and bow behind. She would live off the land for the next two days. Once inside the forest she even pulled her boots off, tied them together, and slung them over her shoulder.

Spuria continued to walk through the forest barefoot. She felt the dampness of the soil through her feet. Each step of the way felt as if she was closer to Mother Nirn. The shackles of city life and government office were off and she could not remember a time when she was more alive. In front of her the air stirred. Smoke seeped out of the ground and red flashed in front of her eyes. She drew her sword. It was Chryse. She stood there looking at Spuria.

"What's going on?" asked Spuria. "Is there danger?"

_No._

"No? Then what in Oblivion are you doing out here? I didn't summon you."

_The ring was made so I may manifest myself as I choose. If you fall unconscious I can still protect you._

"Well, I'm very awake and I don't need protection. I just need... you to be gone."

_No._

Spuria blinked, "Monster, am I missing something? If you're purpose is for protection and there's no danger what are you doing?"

Chryse sighed, stood on her toes, and lifted her chin into the Sky. _I wanted sun. I wanted soil. I wanted to walk freely as you are; as I once did with no bounds._

"Oh no. I'm not looking for a companion to walk with."

_Nor am I._

Spuria held her hand up with the ring on it, "Then just jump back in, alright."

_Chryse looked at her and shook her leafy head. No._

Spuria pointed her sword at Chryse, "I don't mind killing you again."

_You may do so but I shall return to you in a very short time. Molag Bal will reincarnate me as soon as he learns of my banishment._

Spuria sheaved her sword with a snort, "Fine, stretch your legs. But if we see someone..."

_I shall return to the ring._

They walked in silence for hours. But Spuria could not return to that peaceful state of mind. She was taking an afternoon stroll with a monster that tried to kill her. Molag Bal said Chryse was bound to her through the ring. At the moment it felt to Spuria she was the one bound to Chryse.

Chryse sashayed with ethereal grace in front of her. Occasionally she would stop and touch something: the bark of a tree, the bloom of a flower, a pile of dung.

There was only one way for Spuria to get comfortable with the situation, "So what are you, Chryse?"

Chryse looked at her with a startle. _I am your familiar, bound to you through your ring._

"I know that. But you're not a normal spriggan. You're stronger than normal spriggan's, you speak telepathically, and you have intelligence on some level. Why did Molag Bal create you?"

Chryse did not answer.

"Are you ignoring me? You just want me to shut up while you enjoy this nature hike and I fret about following a monster around. Is that it? Well if I can't be comfortable, neither can you. Nope." Spuria began to sing, "I'm walking through the woods. Not my neighborhood. I've got me a friend. Tried to kill me one weekend. I gutted her bear. Now I don't care. She might be a trap. But I saw her eat crap!"

_Silence!_ Chryse turned around to face Spuria. Her body sprouted thorns like it did the first time they met.

"I'll tone it down but first we have to get to know each other. Or else it will always be like this. I need to know about you."

_Fine. Ask your questions._ Chryse turned and continued walking.

Spuria followed, pleased with herself, "So back to my original question. What are you?"

_It is very complex. The simplest answer is I am a hybrid daedric nymph. I was created because Molag Bal wanted to torment nature in some personal way._

"I don't understand."

_My parent was a spriggan like any other. One hundred forty seven years and twenty two days ago my parent found Molag Bal's shrine. While my parent spread seed at its base Molag Bal watched. He later told me it amused him that such a simple creature thought it was laying the foundation of his destruction. On a whim he decided to transport my parent to Oblivion. There he raped my parent._

"Raped her? How did he do that? Spriggans," Spuria tried to put it as gently as she could, "just don't have the parts for that."

_You people are so preoccupied with 'how.' He did it. He penetrated her. For the remainder of my days I carry that memory of rage, pain and despair. He spread his seed within my parent, poisoned my parent, and then sent my parent back to Nirn. There his followers buried my parent deep in the forest. The next growing season I was born. I am the first sexually produced spriggan. I have the body and passions of a spriggan but the mind and some of the power of a daedric prince. Spriggans are a fluke of nature and of this race of beings I am an aberration. The result of a sex crime against nature. Now do you understand why Molag Bal would create such a thing as I?_

Spuria was surprised that she truly felt sorry for this unfortunate soul. If Chryse was human, Spuria doubted she could live with herself, "That's horrible Chryse. I had no idea something like that could happen."

Chryse faced Spuria again. _You do truly care. Why?_

"After hearing your story how could I not?"

_It does not matter what I am if my story is not known to you?_

Spuria set her jaw forward. She didn't like Chryse's accusatory tone, "No."

_I see. And you? How did you come into the service of my father?_

"We have a mutual interest in stopping the construction of the road."

_There is no such thing as shared need to the Daedra. It is the most basic thing to understand about their behavior. It is what makes... us so unnatural._

Again Spuria felt the spriggan's pain, "Then what does he want with me?"

_It has more to do with other Daedra than the protection of The Great Forest, or you, mortal._

"The name is 'Spuria.' Now what the Oblivion does that mean?"

The Daedra have fought with each other since well before the beginning of time on this mortal plane. Some have extreme characteristics that set themselves apart form the others. But some have special powers and abilities that set them apart. My father is as vicious as any Daedra but he lacks the perception and reason others have. This makes him very envious.

"So he's a stupid Daedra?"

In relation to the others, yes. But that is not all. All Daedra have some inert ability to perceive events in the future. This sight, called scrying, is connected to the cycle of life and the repetition of history. My father is especially weak in this ability. He is envious of others that are strong with it. Hermaeus Mora is the strongest but is so passive my father does not consider him to be a threat. But there is another who is strong in scrying; Boethieah. Boethiah is the Daedra of secret plots, conspiracy, treason, revolution, and assassination. He is strategic in his thinking and uses scrying well. Boethiah is so much of what my father covets he has no choice but to hate him because Daedra do not admire other Daedra.

"That's why he needs me, because I came up with the plot. That's why his plans to stop the road were so inadequate."

_And the one called Amir, he needs him as well. Molag Bal is not content with rape and reaping souls. He wants more._

"What do you want?"

_Something. But now is not the time._

* * *

Servantius climbed the steps to Nerva's tent. A full rainbow bloomed in the south and arched east towards the Imperial City which was also visible. His body ached and reminded him of his age more than usual because he and his honor guard rode hard the entire way to Chorrol. Not to make good time but so Servantius could flee the city fast. Or perhaps he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Spuria's anger over this road had reached a boiling point long ago and he could stand it no longer. He did not care about the forest as she did. His only concern was for the safety of the citizenry and obedience to the law. In following that, there was much need for concern about the situation around this project. But for her to needle him with questions then carry on with that vindictive attitude as if he were a part of the problem was unacceptable. When he returned to the city he would talk to her about it.

He reached the top of the stairs. Nerva saluted smartly, "Good evening, sir. Welcome."

Servantius returned the salute, "Ready to brag about how well in hand everything is, Captain?"

Nerva did not always understand Servantius's humor, "Brag sir?"

"Captain, you're such a fine legionnaire that every situation report sounds like bragging to me." He slapped Nerva hard on the pauldron of his armor.

Nerva nodded slowly as if to say, _oh I get it_. "Thank you sir." He held the flap of the tent door open for his commander. Inside was a table with scrolls, papers, books, maps, and manuals scattered about. Nerva showed Servantius to his seat and they sat down at the same time. "Where shall we begin, sir."

"Construction," Servantius answered.

"Ready to begin on schedule. The unskilled laborers are being trained by the foremen from now until construction starts. All the materials, personnel, and resources are in place."

"Are the foremen in the labor camp?"

"Yes. I insisted upon it, sir."

"What about the engineers and others?"

"The engineers are housed together in a mansion at Great Oak Place. The masons have a shelter up north near the quarry. The few masons that are needed to operate this huge tamping contraption thing are staying at an inn called the Oak and Crosier."

"Where is the tamping cart?"

"Behind the city walls near the castle. They have it under heavy guard. After the ceremony they'll roll it out and keep it on site. Then it's our responsibility."

"How is the morale of the labor camp?"

"Most everyone is adjusting well. Many were getting antsy because they weren't accustomed to camping and all the lovely things that come with it. But today was their first pay day. That helped. They've also taken well to the training. I've done my best to make it... fun. But the ones who are not adjusting are the laborers with construction experience. They are some stubborn sons of bitches, sir. I've never had my authority challenged so much."

Servantius chuckled, "Well they are citizens after all, Captain."

"Yes. Citizens who think they are tough."

"Have patience, Captain. What about threat assessment?"

Nerva slid a map out of a pile of other maps and showed it to Servantius, "Although things are calm now there is ample potential for hostility." He began pointing at the map, "Hackdirt as we know is fully rebuilt but we didn't know the so called Brethren are actively patrolling its perimeter. We have ogre and troll sightings to the east and south. Also new in the area is two goblin tribes."

Servantius leaned back in his chair, "Two of them, you say. Have you identified them?"

"One is holed up in Fort Carmala. We're highly confident it is the Bitterfish tribe. They've migrated from the Miscarand ruins to here. The Bitterfish were known to be the weakest of the goblin tribes but they've reconstituted themselves with a new shaman, war chief, and, we think, a new totem. The other is a new tribe. Their symbol is a heart clutched in a hand. We're calling them the Heart Crushers. These goblins are our biggest threat I think. They are spoiling for a fight. Last night our scouts reported that fifty of them went north to Fort Ash. Before the ceremony we're going to do a dungeon crawl and clean them out. Spiking their heads on the southern side of the fort will give the others something to think about. Since you'll be here sir did you want to lead the assault? Nothing clears the head like cleaving into a goblin's."

"Thank you for the offer, Captain but I will decline. What about my special concerns?"

Nerva pecked his finger at the map, "There is something going on here, sir. Some of the guards are definitely mercenaries. They don't have a past with the Chorrol guard beyond two years. I can't quite place their number but there are more than twenty five of them. As for high power weapons there are many. The guards are buying them from Battlehorn like Countess Valga told Ocato but I think they are getting bonuses to do so. She just issued an order for the guard to use only Imperial arms while on duty but some are slow to comply. Some weapons, however, are being stockpiled in the county armory. I have an inventory of those." He placed a folded piece of paper in front of Servantius.

"By The Nine how did you get this?"

"Your thieves are impressive, I must say sir."

"Did you have to pay them extra?"

"No they did it upon request. I attribute that to the antsy idle feeling so prevalent in the camp."

"What about Frankie?"

Nerva leaned in and smiled, "I have a link to the original planner. At least one of the engineers knows him. Her name is Mariana Anicetus, a surveyor. She brought it up in a meeting with Motierre and it looked like somebody had slapped him."

"Who is the planner?"

"I don't know that yet, sir. Motierre suspects nothing. He chats me up like one of the nobles strolling Great Oak Place. It might have something to do with him being knighted. But I've placed..."

"Hold. Did you just say knighted, Captain?" Servantius asked bewildered.

"Yes sir. It will happen on the day of the breaking ground ceremony."

Servantius wondered how Spuria would react to that news. "Go on."

"I've placed some of Dynari's beggars in the engineer's house as servants. It won't be long until we have the name. By not asking anyone directly who the planner is we should be able to take him by surprise."

"Excellent work Captain."

* * *

It was the day Spuria had dreaded for almost five months, Fedas the 16th, Sun's Height. The day the White Road broke ground. The clouds were dark again but the sky looked like it would hold. Spuria traveled with the Imperial caravan to Chorrol in detached silence on her horse. Chancellor Ocato, some other Imperial officials, and members of the Elder Council came as well. Only the elders healthy enough to travel joined the caravan. She contemplated feigning sickness herself to get out of appearing at the ceremony but she knew it would be frowned upon. She also wanted to see Servantius. Palace guards provided the honor guard. It was not everyday one saw a mounted palace guard. Their horses bore armor as ornate as they did. White plates of armor trimmed in gold and accented with red. The horses' tails were also dyed red and styled into a crest.

Weynon Priory was where the caravan stopped. They had arrangements to stay there for the night. A large finely carved ceremonial gateway was erected at the spot where the road would begin. It was made of dark varnished mahogany and accented in with white inscriptions. On the far side of the gate the Imperial legionnaires stood in tight ranks. Servantius was among them. The other side was where the Imperial officials stood in a loose group. In front of the gate were the members of the Colovial Committee. They stood proudly in their finest attire and waved at the crowd of commoners and laborers who had gathered to witness the event. Countess Vlaga, Gunder, Lazzare, Rimalus, and Francois were presented with a shovel with a silver plated blade and an ebony shaft. Trumpets sounded and each person took turns stabbing the ground and tossing the dirt over their shoulders. The crowd cheered with every stab.

While the onlookers watched the people digging Spuria looked sorrowfully at the wound in the ground. She was failing at her mission. For months she did nothing while these nobles and merchants led by this villain Francois Motierre toiled away at their plans. While they progressed according to their designs Spuria's plans did nothing but blow up in her face. She had the original plans that could not be used as evidence. Her alliance with a Deadric prince equated to treason. She murdered a legionnaire as part of an assassin's trap. Her budding relationship with Servantius is being threatened by her role as a traitor and the lies she must maintain to keep him. It seemed her only confidant was the Daedric nymph she carried in her ring.

The ceremony ended and the attendants dispersed. The Colovial Committee walked over to the Imperial officials to shake hands and exchange congratulations. A sketch artist quickly outlined the scene. Spuria noted with some satisfaction that Francois, who was being the most gregarious of them all, timidly avoided her. She felt a hand on her back.

"You look ravishing today, my lady," said Servantius.

Spuria had to grin, "You're only saying that because it's been more than a week since we've seen each other because I really look like a monk in this get up."

"Well there is that."

She turned to face him, "So what are we going to do about all that lost time?"

Servantius's command armor seemed to glow even in the lack of sunlight, "Well I'm staying in the middle of a military camp site and you're staying in a priory tonight. There's no vacancy at the inns so we might as well enjoy our company amongst others."

"Do you have an idea for that?"

"I do. The Oak and Crosier has decided to lend their tavern exclusively to the Sixth Legion and Imperial personnel tonight. There will be music and plenty to drink. You would do me an honor by accompanying me." He bowed slightly.

Spuria wanted to tell him to knock it off but she knew it was just his way, "It'll be our first time out together."

Servantius nodded and smiled.

"Do you think Chancellor Ocato will be there?" she asked.

Servantius's smile shattered, "I don't think so, Spuria."

"Why not?"

"He has to attend another ceremony tonight. Motierre is to be knighted at sunset."

Spuria folded her arms across her stomach and looked down. _I'm not going to do it_, she promised herself. _I'm not going to vent my frustrations on him after a week of absence_. She looked up and saw that his teeth were grinding inside his mouth, "Okay. Let me get changed into something else and I'll meet you there."

The Oak and Crosier had a large bar and dining area. That night it was packed full of the Sixth Legion's Sixth Cohort. Rowdy merry making ensued with sloshing beer steins and impromptu recitations of old battle hymns. The Khajiit bar maid, Talasma, hurried nervously behind the bar trying to serve the legionaries the best she could. A multi cultural folk fusion band played in the far corner of the dining area on a shoddy makeshift stage. Spuria thought the music was very good. Music in Cyrodiil went in cycles it seemed. For a few years folk fusion would be the rage, then a very faddish new wave music would spawn, then everybody would become ashamed of that time and revert to their respective traditional ethnic folk music, and from there it would revert back to folk fusion. The band playing was called Questing Travelers.

Spuria was on her umpteenth glass of wine and swayed gently to the music while she sat at the bar. Servantius bickered jokingly with another officer named Captain Egnatius as he held firmly onto her thigh. She wore a white low cut shoulderless blouse and a long blue skirt with sandals. She had on a jeweled necklace with a thick silver chain around her neck and her hair was done up in a matching silver hair cage. Wearing her hair like that accentuated her elfish ears.

Servantius quickly turned to Spuria, "Listen to this story! You're not going to believe it. This man is full of crap!"

The captain who had trouble sitting upright and keeping his left eye completely open leaned close to Spuria. His fermented breath washed over her, "So it's my first year in the Legion and the Oblivion Crisis has just started. I go out on patrol with my century and we find this gate. There's a bunch of scamps, a couple flame atronachs, and handful of other daedra around the thing. We ride in and mop them up pretty good. The lieutenant sends a rider to get reinforcements and we guard the gate. While we're waiting this bloke named, Maxwell starts poking at a clannfear."

Nerva swigged his beer from the bottle then continued. "I say, 'Quit messing with that.' And he says to me, 'What would you call this thing?' I say, 'It's a damn daedra now stop messing with it,' cause it's making me nervous. Then he says, 'I know that but species wise, how would you categorize it?' I tell him, 'I don't know. It's a lizard. It has scales.' So he thinks a while. Moves its limbs around. Then he says, 'It has scales but it's more like a chicken.' I laugh at him, 'It isn't a chicken. It doesn't have feathers!' He shouts back, 'I know that but look at its body. It's got the legs of a chicken, the back of a chicken, the neck of a chicken. A fish has scales too but it isn't a lizard.' And I say, 'I think you have the brain of a chicken.' Then our lieutenant... Ha! This is good! Then our lieutenant, who is this upper crust type officer but is really mean, grabs us both by the cheek guards, crushes our heads together, and shouts 'Truly you two seek validation in the shallowest of depths! Now shut up and look smart for Nine's sake!' and he throws both of us into the clannfear corpse."

Spuria laughed at Nerva's pantomiming of the action and enthusiasm more than what actually took place.

At a table of enlisted men one legionnaire called out, "Is he telling his chicken story?"

Nerva slung his beer in the direction of the table, "Hold thy tongue or you'll be cleaning the latrine with it, Private! It's a damn good story!" He continued, "Six months later we're not just guarding gates anymore we're closing them. This one in the middle of nowhere opens up. You know that big patch of nothing between the Yellow Road and Upper Niben? Yeah that place. Just nothing there. But command's thinking is because nobody's around to see where the Daedra are going that gate needs to be closed before other gates near cities and villages need closing. We kill the normal lot outside. We jump inside and... _boom_! They were on us so fast. Dozens of them. It didn't matter what you swung your sword at because it was a flood of daedra. Anyways, I'm fighting like a mad troll during mating season and this huge three hundred pound clannfear rams me. The monster and I go down a cliff and land right next to a river of lava. I can't find my sword, my shield, or my helmet and I'm so hot it feels like I'm on fire. I try to get up but this thing jumps on me. I find myself on my back. I have a hold of the thing by the head. My legs are propping the entire monster up by its hips. The thing is snarling and drooling into my eyes and mouth. Its claws are scraping away at my armor and it won't be long till they're rending the flesh from my bones. I look around and nobody is with me. So I start screaming like a girl, 'Help! Somebody get this cursed lizard off me! Heeeelp!'" Nerva made his voice as high pitched and shrill as possible. "Then I hear, 'You mean that cursed chicken?' I scream, 'Yes the bloody chicken! It's a chicken! By The Nine it's a chicken! Just kill it!' He runs it through and we push the clannfear into the river."

All three exploded with laughter. Spuria laughed so hard her stomach hurt and tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to wipe them but in her drunken state she nearly poked her eye out. This only amplified the hilarity. "Oh that's good," said Spuria out of breath. "Do you keep in touch with any of these people still?"

Nerva smiled, "Eh, not really."

"Well why not?"

Nerva set his beer down, "I know the Lieutenant is some where freezing is arse off in Skyrim. But Maxwell didn't make it out of that particular gate."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No it's okay. They say we should talk about these things. Uh," Nerva concentrated on telling the story more seriously, "After the initial entry all of us were banged up bad. Some of my armor was so badly damaged I left pieces of it behind. We encountered a little resistance on the way to the sigil keep. But all of us stayed alive. We entered the main tower and it was just like the gate. Except for this time it was five Xivilai; evil blue bastards. But we got through that too. We even pulled off a couple soul traps. Have you ever been to Oblivion?"

Spuria shook her head.

"Don't feel bad. I never boast about being there myself. In a sigil keep you have the main tower and a bunch of alternative towers. The main tower, the keep, harnesses the energy of the sigil stone and draws this column of fire from it. It blazes hotter than a furnace and it's much brighter than the sun. The other towers serve some other purpose. It's really confusing at first but after a while you do learn instinctively there is a method to the madness. Many of them have traps. Others have these blood spouting wells that heal you. And they work fast. All you have to do is touch it with bare skin. Sometimes we were in such a hurry we couldn't pull our gloves off so we just took our... faces... it was so... warm..." Nerva trailed off. He sat wide eyed, still, and silent.

Spuria was frightened for Nerva. She could see the fear in his eyes as he relived the experience. She looked at Servantius. He just held up a finger, telling her to wait.

"... even heals scars. That's why I'm still so pretty." He smiled but nobody was convinced. "Well we come out of a side tower and we are only one floor below the sigillum sangius. We're all thinking this is amazing. All of us are still alive. Hiding right behind us along a wall was this cowardly churl dressed in black. It was so dark in that other tower and so bright in the keep we didn't see the cowardly bastard because our eyes hadn't yet adjusted. We think he saw us take those Xivilai at the bottom of the keep. He knew he had no chance. So he just lunges at Maxwell and both of them go over the handrail. He struck Max so hard that he flew into the column of fire. We watched his body float up to the ceiling and disintegrate."

A long silence ensued where the raucous music and the cheering were muted by the sorrow of Nerva's tale. Spuria held her glass up, "To Maxwell for his bravery, camaraderie, and his fine contributions to the field of daedric taxonomy."

Nerva smiled and brought his beer bottle to her glass, "Here, here." Servantius followed suit.

All three finished off their drinks. "Now gentleman, if you will excuse me," said Spuria. She jumped off her stool and landed wobbly. Servantius leaned over to grab her but she slapped his hands away then waved her finger at him, "I'm fine." Her face tingled and it felt as if she walked on stilts. She made her way downstairs to the wash room.

In Cyrodiil only the Imperial City had a fully functioning sewer system that pumped water into buildings and carried away waste. The walled cities of each county did not have the water resources to accomplish such a thing. Most businesses and public places and some affluent houses had flush toilets but they emptied into their own pit.

The Oak and Crosier's basement was typically dark with torches in iron sconces lighting the way every fifteen feet. In the far corner was the toilet stall. Across the stall was a mirror flanked by two candle stands. The wash basin was in front of the mirror. From the floor above she heard boots banging on the wood floor to the beat of the music. She opened the door to find the toilet was well maintained and clean. The stone floor however was damp. There was an incense burner on a shelf above the toilet. Scented candles provided light within the stall. There were also ample towels and a selection of perfumes on a rack. Spuria shut the door behind her and latched it. She hiked her skirt up, pulled her undergarment down and sat on the chilly porcelain seat. Nothing was as soothing as a drunken evacuation of the bladder. She shut her eyes and waited for the pleasantly warm flow to begin.

Spuria heard a click and before she could open her eyes the door flew open and banged shut. A hooded man dressed in black stood over her. She opened her mouth to scream but his hand quickly clamped over her mouth and pushed her head all the way to the stone wall. It was Amir. He put his finger over his mouth to shush her.

The technique is called a groin rip. The fingers are pulled back to form a claw and the palm is thrust out and turned down. The groin is struck with the heel of the palm and then the fingers rake upward and back. When applied to Amir it made him yelp like a neutered puppy. He crashed to his knees, grabbed his crotch, and groaned with pain. Spuria stood with her loin cloth still around her ankles and smashed her left fist into his face. He pitched over but she caught him by the shoulder and delivered three sharp elbows to the top of his head. She could see blood oozing from a wound on his scalp but Amir continued to confirm the location of his testicles.

Spuria maneuvered behind him and yanked the silver chain off of her and pulled it tightly around Amir's neck, "I'm going to do something I know is right, Amir. I'm going to kill you! I'm going to kill you for everything you've made me do and all the harm you've done to other women." Her hands clutched the chain and pulled hard. Amir struggled to fit his fingers underneath the chain as it bit into his flesh. The dark skin of his face turned a deep red. The stomping above them quickened with the crescendo of the music.

"You and that demon have manipulated and corrupted me. You're using me!" She pulled even tighter. The chain pinched the skin of her fingers. Veins in Amir's face and neck bulged. Tears squeezed out of his eyes. He stopped struggling. He folded his arms over his chest and looked up at her.

"And you're going to let me kill you because your master needs me more than he needs you!" She laughed maniacally and pulled the chain with all her strength. Amir's throat made slight popping noises and his face turned purple. His eyes fluttered. Blood from his head ran down. The stall door remained partially opened and Spuria saw herself in the mirror. She smiled evilly as she hunched over Amir's body suspended only by the chain around his neck. Her ears were pulled back and her face was twisted with hate. She began to think. What was she going to tell people? There were over a hundred legionnaires above her. Could Amir have a contingency plan? She was also very drunk. Perhaps she was playing into his or Molag Bal's hands at this very moment. Her brain felt like it was flipping inside her skull. She relaxed her arms slowly and allowed Amir's body to slump into the wet stone floor of the stall. She pulled her loin cloth up and stepped outside of the stall while Amir came coughing and gasping back to life.

"What in the Oblivion are you doing here, Amir?" she asked.

Amir pulled his face from the ground. It was caked with blood and grime, "Molag... Bal... demands to... see you." His speech came in ragged exasperated breaths and his body heaved with every word.

"You had to ambush me for that?" Spuria could feel a nauseous sensation in her belly.

Amir sat up against the wall and pulled a small towel from the rack. He wiped the blood, tears, and dirt from his face, "You traveled up here with palace guards, you're staying at a priory, and you're cavorting with a legion commander. When else could I get to you?" He tugged again at his crotch. He unbuckled his belt and felt underneath his pants. A faint white glow shown threw the fabric and Spuria knew he was using magic to heal himself.

_Good_, she thought. "What does he want?"

"I don't know."

Spuria grabbed him by collar, "Think hard!"

Amir grabbed her arm and swept her legs out from under her. She jumped back to her feet but stumbled over. "You caught me by surprise a minute ago," he said. "I'll give you that. But you're drunk and I'm not to be trifled with as well." He relaxed against the wall again. "I don't know exactly but if I had to guess he wants to know about the investigation."

"They're trying to find a farmer to go along with those melons."

Amir sighed, "That can only lead to me. Damn. I should have killed a farmer and set him..."

"Don't even..."

"... but it's too late now." He stood up, "When can we see you at the shrine?"

"We're not doing it this way anymore. Understand? Don't ever approach me outside the city again."

"Operating in the city is very problematic for me."

"Tough. It's not my problem. You tell Molag Bal that it's too dangerous this way."

Amir said nothing. He washed his face at the basin, put his hood on, and disappeared in the darkness.

Spuria finished going to the toilet. At the mirror she took a long hard look at herself. She didn't recognize the person looking back at her. She climbed the steps back into the fray of joy and celebration. The band was taking a break but the noise had not come down. An arm wrestling match took place near the stairs to the basement. She walked back to her place at the bar where there was another glass of wine for her.

Servantius saw her and smiled, "What took you so... are you alright?"

"Yes," she lied. "I got sick down there. Will you walk me to the priory?"

Servantius hesitantly looked around the room then finally said, "Sure. It's getting late." He put his arm around her. "Spuria are you sure you're okay? You're shaking like a leaf."

"I'm fine."

Servantius tried to blink away the haze of his inebriation, "Bullocks. Did something happen to you?" His voice grew louder.

"I said I'm fine." Spuria stepped away from his cradling arm and walked quickly to the door.

Servantius deftly seized her by the elbow and pulled her back towards him, "You can't keep doing this, Spuria."

She shoved hard against his chest and shouted, "Let go of me!"

The entire inn fell silent. All the legionnaires watched with dismay. Servantius looked afraid.

Spuria fought back tears. She walked to him and placed her hands around his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm drunk. We're both drunk. I promise it won't be like this for long. Please just walk me back to the priory." The two left together and the band took that as their cue to strike up another set.

* * *

Kurz gro-Borath dismounted his horse and allowed a laborer to take it away. The laborer, most likely a beggar from another county, regarded his daedric armor with disgust. He did not care. Kurz was a utilitarian. The armor did its job and that was all that mattered. But later on its bulk would matter to him. The mornings in this part of Cyrodiil were fairly cool but as the road moved south it would become more uncomfortable. He made his way back towards the carriage. It was not a long trip but for the good of the city and the workers the decision to keep the Flamma Vigoratus mages isolated meant they were to be transported to work by a carriage. His brother who traveled behind the carriage met him at the door. They exchanged pensive looks and donned their helmets.

Kurz unlatched the door, "Alright everybody out. Trees are marked. Those are the ones that are supposed to come down. Just like the practices."

The mages filed out in their brown and red robes. The loggers waited on either side of the ridge in teams. They all carried axes, wedges, and rope. The unskilled laborers waited across the road with their picks and shovels. Until today they were unaware of how the forest would be cleared. They simply knew they were to dig once the logs were out of the way and being delimbed, bucked and processed for transfer. But they had heard rumors of these mad mages held in one of the wall's towers that were guarded by demonic orcs.

Will-O was the first to remove his hood. The laborers gasped and murmured amongst each other. He bounced on his toes and smiled that high contrast smile of his. The other mages removed their hoods as well. "I get the first tree, yes?" asked Will-O

"Yes you do," replied Ailill. "I'll mark it for you."

"Mark five of them." Will-O rubbed his hands together and flecks of black snowed onto his brown robe.

"No Will-O, just one. More than that and it gets too dangerous. You might miss one of your targets."

"Thracius might miss a target. You might miss a target. I shan't."

Kurz listening to the conversation decided he should say something, "Are we working today or what?"

"I'm just trying to get us started, is all," said Will-O.

Ailill looked at Kurz with a wry grin, "Three."

"Done," said Will-O.

Ailill walked to the nearest tree that had been marked with white. He took a red paint brush and put an X on it. He moved to another near by to mark it.

"No," said Will-O. "Farther back."

Ailill walked thirty paces deeper and pointed to another tree, "Is this one good enough for you, show-off?"

"Yes. Now mark another one farther than that one."

After marking the second tree Ailill walked even deeper into the woods, "Can you even see me now?"

"Yes. The one in front of you is fine."

Ailill hurried back and the logging crew fanned out to rig the trees to fall safely away from the ridge.

Kurz stood directly behind Will-O to see his targets. They were spread wide apart and there were many limbs, bushes, and boulders obscuring the view. "So you gonna do three really fast, huh?"

"An amateur could do that," replied Will-O. "I shall take them down at the same time."

Kurz wanted to tell him that would not happen but his curiosity vetoed the idea.

Will-O spread his arms wide and a ball of fire formed before him. He drew his hands nearer and it condensed into a tighter and brighter ball. Kurz could feel the heat and see the ripples in the air around the mage. Will-O twisted his upper body slightly then thrust his arms out with a snap. Three fire balls were loosed and scorching their way to their targets. In turn, each met their mark and destroyed a two foot section of tree trunk. The timber fell first slowly then rapidly down the mountain.

"By the bollocks of Akatosh!" shouted Kurz.

"Feeling sated?" asked Ailill.

"How can I with so much more to do?" said Will-O


	7. Chapter 7: Tension and Discovery

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 7: Tension and Discovery

Mariana Ancetus checked her measurements from the theodolite again and scribbled some notes in her log. Standing next to her at the end of the road and the beginning of the road bed was Caratacus the project lead foreman. On each side was the entire shift of laborers with a few legionnaire guards. Beyond them the axes and saws of the logging crew were heard as they delimbed the fallen trees. The Flama Vigoratus mages were resting. Apparently forming all of those fire balls not only drained them of magika but also water. They had their own two barrels of fresh water lashed to the back of their carriage. The orcs stood over them as they drank voraciously. Most of the laborers were lying down or sitting trying to stay cool. It was hot and humid that day and while the trees of The Great Forest provided ample shade they also blocked the wind from penetrating deep in the forest. When the temperature rose to a certain point, the shade rendered little comfort. Mariana tossed her log onto the white stones of the road and picked up her perambulator, "It's off by three degrees," she said.

"Damn it!" shouted Caratacus. "How far back do we have to go?"

Mariana placed the perambulator on the road and walked up the slope measuring the distance with the one wheeled device. As it clicked off the feet on its dial she heard the laborers muttering curses under their breath. From where Caratacus stood Mariana looked very small when she stopped and turned. She was almost touching the large tamping cart. "Forty seven feet," she said. Mariana took her time walking back so that she was spared Caratacus's tantrum.

When she arrived next to him and her theodolite he said with anxiety, "We don't have time for ripping up stones, Mar."

"Sorry Car, but you should consider us lucky. We've lengthened the interval for spot checking the road. We're only three weeks in yet ten percent complete. Not to mention we have a largely inexperienced labor crew."

"Well you're not the one who's going to have Sir Motierre one hundred percent up your arse about this. I don't call that lucky."

"What's his problem? We're almost a week ahead of schedule already."

"I don't know but as soon as we broke ground all the talk about doing things right and by the book went out the window. Now all I hear is how slow we're going. He's threatening to complain to the City Engineers Board about me."

"He can try that but it won't go anywhere."

"Easy for you to say."

"Okay, calm down. Let's talk to him together then. Mistakes like this are bound to get worse at this rate."

"It's already worse. I heard from a legionnaire this morning there was a rockslide at the quarry. A sixteen year old kid got his back broken." Mariana shook her head. "Besides," he continued, "He's gone down south again. I wouldn't expect him back for a couple days."

"What do you mean? He's been traveling to Skingrad?"

"I doubt it. He goes with about ten guards and doesn't return for a day or two. This is the third time."

Mariana thought for a moment, "Do you think he's visiting Etzel?"

"Etzel Ferrer? Why would he do that?"

"Come now, Car. This project has Etzel written all over it."

"I know. But I doubt Etzel has a hand in any of this anymore. If he was here we could do without the masons. He'd be shitting enough bricks to finish three of these roads and a Kvatch."

Mariana stifled a laugh, "Well maybe _we_ should talk to Etzel?"

"What for?"

"Well if we get the lead planner on board with us then we have some clout to slow this project down and do things by the book and safely."

Caratacus screwed his face into a pained expression, "I don't think I'll be throwing my hat in with you on that one. Motierre is Valga's man of the hour. If he's pushing us faster it is coming directly from her. Sorry, Mar."

"Well I'm not paid by Countess Valga or Motierre. I'm paid by the Imperial government. Those masons, who are literally being crushed by the pace of this construction, may not feel they have a right to address these issues but I do."

"Ogre!" came a cry from a guard deep into the woods. "To the south!" All around the work site guards called out to each other.

A lieutenant mounted on a horse galloped forward, "Form up at the road bed; ten abreast, three ranks, and lock shields. Archers ready!" The archers were sixty selected members of the labor force. As a part of their military training some laborers were trained to help protect the workers should the need arise. Captain Egnatius meticulously screened them for ability, discipline, and character before allowing them access to weapons. Their simple long bows and quivers were kept in a wagon under guard. These people, Amusei among them, scampered to their feet and bolted towards the wagon.

Lum and Kurz brought the mages behind where the archers would assume formation. Kurz grasped the head of his throwing ax and said, "Great. The only action we've seen so far and we're not getting any." Lum nodded.

Amusei strung his bow, slung his quiver onto his back, and slipped on his bracers. If he had his usual bow he was sure he could take the ogre out by himself but that was not Captain Egnatius's "battle plan." The city engineers ran past him as he made his way back to the front. He found his assigned place in formation even though many of his fellow archers were still trying to get ready.

"Where is it?" asked the lieutenant.

"It stopped behind that bolder over yonder, sir," replied a scout. He motioned towards another scout who had a better point of view. The other scout nodded and pointed at his eyes to confirm he still saw the ogre.

"Damn. The forest cuts down our effective range and we won't be able to arch the arrows behind the cover. The formation was made for an attacking enemy, not a hiding enemy. Let's see if we can flush him out." He looked back towards the archers. They were now in their proper place. He held up his arm, "Archers nock!" They quickly drew arrows and set them on the bow string. "Draw!" They pulled their arrows back on the straining bow strings and pointed them at the standard forty five degree angle. "Aim twenty degrees down!" All the arrows tilted down to a more direct trajectory at the bolder. The lieutenant dropped his arm swiftly, "Loose!" Sixty bow strings snapped back into place and sent their missiles whistling towards the target. The lieutenant watched with satisfaction as the arrows met their mark with no noticeable strays. The ogre roared. The lieutenant looked expectantly to the scout who watched the ogre.

"Negative, sir," the scout shouted. "He's hugging that rock now."

"So be it. Sergeant, take a half dozen of your best on foot and flank him on the left. Archers, be prepared to fire at the same angle but to the right of the cover."

"Belay that order." Everyone turned to see Captain Egnatius striding towards the lieutenant with his guards in tow. It was obvious he had observed the engagement. "Let's think about this lieutenant."

"Yes sir. I stand relieved."

"No you're still in charge, lieutenant. What's our status?"

"Well, sir. We have an ogre on our south perimeter. Work has stopped. Everybody is in their assigned position. We have extensive foliage that hinders our ranged attacks. We have two maniples on guard duty plus five officers on horseback."

"How many workers are there?"

"Just under six hundred at the moment sir."

"So what's your plan?"

The lieutenant was getting annoyed but did not show it, "Send some capable soldiers to skirmish on the left flank and force the enemy into our line of sight. Then the archers will take care of the rest while our flankers stay in cover, sir."

Nerva nodded, "It's a good plan. What if it fails?"

"Sir... I'm not sure how it would fail other than the ogre retreating."

"I don't know. Perhaps this ogre is especially tough. He seems smarter than the usual monster. Or maybe he has some fellow ogres nearby. It doesn't matter. What do you do when your first plan fails?"

The lieutenant's face now showed his annoyance. It did not seem fair to him that his Captain can think of any crazy scenario and expect him to solve it. Furthermore his men were watching their conversation. He strongly felt the Captain was diminishing his authority. "Well sir, in that case, I would send ten more men to help route the enemy."

Nerva feigned shock, "You would commit even more men to a failed strategy?"

Now the lieutenant's face was red, "Of course not, sir. The best option would be overwhelming force. Mobilize half a maniple on the enemy and if he flees kill him at range or send in the officers for a cavalry charge."

"A very aggressive response, lieutenant, but it is also reckless." Nerva could see the lieutenant had given up on pleasing his superior officer at that moment. "We have six hundred men to protect and you want to leave one hundred eighty soldiers to do the job with this much cover around us? No. Before you can implement your primary plan you must have the means for your contingency plan in place. We have the ogre pinned down. We can wait for reinforcements then move forward with your plans."

"Aye, sir." The lieutenant refused to look at Nerva.

"What you need to realize lieutenant..."

"Are we killing this thing or what?" interrupted Kurz.

Nerva snapped his head at Kurz and yelled, "This is a military matter, fighter, now return to your charges at once!"

"They're fine, my brother's watching them. What the oblivion is taking so long?"

"We're discussing strategy. Something, I suspect, you know little about."

"Bullocks on your strategy, man. You think you're still in war school or something."

"Every encounter is a learning opportunity," replied Nerva.

Kurz's upturned nostrils flared, "Every encounter is a chance for somebody to die. Now if we're not making it the other guy then we're in more danger as time goes on."

Nerva pointed at the orc, "You see men, this is what they teach Fighters Guild people. Jump face first into a situation and leave the rest up to chance."

"More like leaving it up to skill. But that's beside the point. There's a deadly creature out there and you're busy giving your officer a test. You're running this entire operation like everyone is in boot camp."

"Training is how the military stays prepared for battle. It's a way of life."

"Fine. Have you're way of life. Keep us out of it. Basic training lasts for two months for you guys but these workers you have here are on the job for the better part of a year. It's not what they signed up for."

"When I first got here..." Nerva watched dumbfounded as the other orc, Lum, streaked past them on his horse. "What's he doing!?"

"That ogre is a threat to our principals. He's taking care of it... as per our contract of course."

"Halt! Orc, I order you to halt!" Nerva drew his sword, "Order him to cease, Kurz."

Kurz folded his arms across his chest, "I ain't a soldier and you ain't my client so there won't be any orders between us. You gonna do something with that sword?"

Nerva turned his attention to Lum who was almost to the ogre. He held his sword aloft, "Archers, nock!"

"Hey what?" shouted Kurz. "No. This ain't funny. My brother's out there."

"I've trained these men myself, fighter. They're very accurate."

Kurz ran in between the archers and the thirty legionnaires protecting them. He drew his axes and held his arms out wide, "I swear on my mother's shallow grave if any of you verpas shoot near my brother I'll have your head."

Nerva pointed his sword at Kurz, "Archers, stand down. Lieutenant, secure the Flamma Vigoratus mages and detain them in their tower. Arrest Kurz and Lum when the ogre is dead."

"Yes sir," replied the lieutenant. He motioned to a very nervous sergeant to take Kurz into custody.

"You rotten bastard," said Kurz. "You better get real creative with these charges."

"Charges?" said Nerva mockingly. "I think I'll heed your advice and take a very long time devising them."

Lum galloped to the bolder at full speed. The wind howled through the many horns and spines of his daedric helm. Most people preferred to not wear the helmet of a daedric armor set because it is bound to the spirit of a daedra in the mystic forging process and thus still haunted the armor. It gave people, even those well acquainted in wearing armor, a panicked claustrophobic feeling. But Lum liked that.

He roughly reined his horse in at the bolder and leapt on to the rock from his saddle. Squatting low he drew his heavy ebony war hammer. It had a broad rounded striking surface on one end of the head and a thick curved spike on the other end, all trimmed in battle scarred gold. As quietly as possible he climbed over the peak of the bolder. He could hear the ogre below snorting and shifting about. Rather than give away his position by looking for the monster he crouched low and jumped twisting in the air. He judged his position correctly as he was awarded with a view of its back but he jumped too far. Lum struck downward any way to keep it at bay. A moment after his feet touched the ground the head of his hammer imbedded itself three inches deep into the forest turf. The monster turned and moved forward but Lum pulled his hammer from the ground and quickly hooked the ogre's ankle with the spike. Lum spun in place lifting the tree trunk sized leg off the ground and used the momentum to strike the unbalanced ogre in the stomach. The blow had a terrific affect. The bulging fat gut warbled and jiggled with violence and a pink and purple spot instantly formed on the thing's sickly pale flesh. But it took more than that to slay an ogre.

A second was needed before the ogre regained its footing and swung at Lum's head with its mighty fist. He ducked and parried the blow to the side then swung at the ogre's knee cracking it square on the knee cap. Once again what would be a debilitating blow on a man barely stunned the ogre. It put its other foot forward and struck with both arms this time. Lum was knocked back several feet and landed in a bush. The workers and legionnaires now had a clear view of the fight. Pulling himself to his feet and tearing apart the bush which entangled his armor Lum charged at the ogre. Instead of swinging from the side he thrust forward with the head of his hammer. It met the ogre's wide jaw with a crunch and the animal bellowed with pain. _Finally_, Lum thought. He turned the spike end forward and swung again at the ogre's stomach, the large bruise providing a bull's eye. The spike punched deep into the black flesh doubling the ogre over. Lum dislodged the hammer and spun striking the flabby lower back. The monster flopped forward with a heavy thud. Lum wasted no time. He placed one boot on the back of the ogre's shoulder and swung down at its head with all of his strength. The skull offered no resistance other than a crunchy, bloody cushion to soften the impact to the mossy ground.

At the road workers and legionnaires cheered the victory but Kurz and Nerva stayed silent and glared at each other as the orc was shackled.

* * *

Fabia Varius shuffled papers across her desk, checked the daily plan, and skimmed over _The Black Horse Courier_ to distract herself from the fact that Spuria Cominius, her boss, was late again. Late on a day when she had an appointment from a high imperial official. She had two days to prepare for it. If this continued Fabia felt she needed to take administrative action against her own department head. The Department of Interior was not a large organization and it had few employees compared to other departments but there was literally not a square inch of the empire not connected or dependent on their activities. The office was too important to have a listless leader.

Spuria finally arrived. She curtly waved to her subordinates while walking to Fabia's desk. She could already see Fabia's attitude was on display. Although late, Spuria objected to Fabia's ire. Surely Fabia was just as despondent over the current state of the department. Underfunded, unappreciated, and understaffed they had a tremendous responsibility that was being sidelined by other concerns, namely the White Road. But what was the point of caring so much? Inwardly Spuria felt haggard but she consciously hid her despair. At least she hoped she did, "Good morning, Fabia. What do we have today?"

Fabia looked down before answering, "You don't remember do you?"

Spuria sighed, "I wouldn't have asked if I did."

"Lord Treasurer Manius Mocius has been waiting in your office for twenty minutes." Fabia took note of Spuria's blanched expression and continued, "I told you two days ago he was coming to discuss the progress on the White Road. Here are all the statistics that we have."

Spuria cursed herself. She had forgotten the meeting. Fabia had told her about it amongst a list of other items that needed her attention. But Spuria was day dreaming about another hike through the Great Forest, which was now a weekly activity for her. It allowed her to get out of the city and get to know Chryse better. She accepted the bundle of papers, "Right."

Fabia watched with derision as Spuria opened the door to her office. The office was considerably large given her small department. There was enough space for a conference of twenty with room left over. Her walls were covered with various maps of different functions. Topographical maps, population density maps, maps with landmarks and resources diagramed, and many others. Only one wall had books and records shelved and that was behind her desk where Manius Mocius stood to greet her. "Lord Treasurer, I am profoundly sorry for my tardiness."

He took her hand as a gentleman and said, "It's quite alright, lady secretary, this is actually the first time in a week that I've been able to sit and think. I should thank you." Manius's appearance made Spuria question if she was hiding her distress. He too looked frayed and on edge. Bags sagged under his eyes, his elven ears drooped a little, and something of a second chin was forming on his face.

She handed the documents Fabia had prepared, "Here are the figures you requested."

He took them uneasily, "I am not really interested in discussing numbers today, my lady."

"Oh?" _then why the oblivion did Fabia give them to me_, she thought. They took their seats at the same time.

"I'm more interested in what is going on at the construction site. They are ahead of schedule, yes?"

"By over a week according to reports."

"Why? What happened to hasten the project?"

"I'm not sure, Lord Treasurer. Is that a problem?"

Manius did not answer for a moment, "In the beginning you were opposed to this project, were you not?"

Spuria swallowed hard. She had to guard her deepest feelings about the road but was curious as to what Manius was alluding to, "Yes and I must admit to you I still am. But the political pressure is too high to overtly oppose it. So my authority regarding the matter has been effectively usurped by the will of the Elder Council. I simply sign off on everything." She shrugged futilely.

"You oppose it on principle. Why?"

"There are other more pressing concerns that need attention. Things, although not as grand as building a new road and rebuilding Kvatch, that will help the Empire."

Manius nodded slowly, "I opposed it on theory. It seemed too expensive. Although it has been a short time now I'm opposed to it based on reality."

Spuria leaned forward, "What do you mean?"

"What I say here cannot leave this room. All over Tamriel our coffers are running dry. It's the bonds, Ms. Cominius. Ten years later and we have not recovered from the lost tax revenue from the Oblivion Crisis. Bonds became the life blood of the Cyrodiilic Empire. We sold millions of new bonds to provinces and wealthy lords that usually used them as stable investments. Now, for some reason, little by little they are cashing out. The treasury is fine now but if this trend continues... we shan't have the septims to cover the bonds."

Molag Bal had really come through after all. Spuria wrestled her glee into the pit of her stomach, "What does this have to do with the White Road?"

"It's the largest short term non fixed expenditure on the books. Because they're ahead of schedule the project's expenses have increased into a shorter term. We did not budget for this event. We pad all large expenditures with a reserve but... it was a construction project. They _always_ take longer than expected. Cost overruns for these things are always in the long term! "Which," Manius started to laugh nervously, "is the thing usually harder to plan for. You combine these payments with other payments due soon (some of them matured bonds, others are fixed costs) then we have a serious situation on our hands. We have to stop the bleeding. The sooner we do it, the better."

Spuria willed herself not to sound anxious, "So you want to stop construction?"

"I prefer the term 'delay' but for now I'll settle for 'slow'."

"How can I help?"

"I'm calling the Chancellor and a couple members of the Elder Council for a conference next Morndas. I would like for Major Quintilius and yourself to be present."

"I'll be there, Lord Treasurer. Have you spoken to the Major?"

"Um... No, I thought you could do that for me. As I understand it you two are something of an item."

She smiled. _This was working out too well_, she thought, "It just so happens we have plans that weekend."

* * *

Captain Egnatius and Kurz gro-Borath waited in front of the Chorrol county throne. Nerva stood in the parade rest position. Kurz stood normally but massaged his wrists. Not because they hurt but his feelings about the imprisonment were still raw. He and his brother spent five hours in the legion camp's stockade waiting for somebody to release them. While Kurz went to the county throne room under Legion escort, Lum went strait to the Fighters Guild headquarters to talk with Modryn Oreyn, the guild master. Kurz looked at the legionnaire. The Captain seemed brimming with conviction but Kurz reasoned his nerves were on edge. He had crossed the line in a moment of anger and he knew it.

Countess Valga burst through a door to the royal quarters and quickly descended the steps with a long green silk gown fluttering behind her, "Before we begin, you two should know I would almost prefer to execute my steward for lying to me than to be arbitraging this repugnant matter; and he has served me for fifteen loyal years. Both of you should be representing the utmost professionalism of your organizations yet today you gave in to the most clannish and tribal instincts known to man." She sat in her throne, "The facts, as I understand them are: An ogre approached the site. The officer on watch called the guards to arms according to battle plan and was ready to deal with the ogre. Captain Egnatius halted the assault. Fighter Kurz gro-Borath questioned Captain Egnatius's actions. While the Captain and Kurz were arguing Lum gro-Borath rode out to kill the ogre and Captain Egnatius took the fighters and the Flamma Vigoratus mages into custody. Am I correct?"

"Basically, madam, yes you are correct," said Nerva. Kurz nodded in agreement.

"Basically?" Valga repeated. "Am I technically wrong, Captain?"

"No, madam."

Valga raised her chin and looked down her nose at Nerva, "Because if you wish to be technical you have illegally detained two citizens of my county."

Nerva breathed deeply, "That is technically incorrect, madam. I was well within my authority to arrest Kurz and Lum gro-Borath for reckless endangerment and specifically a threat of harm towards the workers by Kurz himself."

"Now hold on," said Kurz. He formed a _T_ with his hands. "I got in front of his archers when this lunatic threatened to let them loose on where my brother was. I was protecting my brother."

"Really Captain?" asked Countess Valga. "These are misdemeanor charges are they not?"

Nerva's face tightened and he stared strait ahead rather than make eye contact with the countess, "I suppose if this were to go to court that would be the finding, madam."

"And for misdemeanor charges is it not true that you, as a legionnaire operating within my jurisdiction, are obligated to give the accused the option of paying a fine in lieu of detainment and register the charge at the city watch office?"

"My authority over the construction site implies..."

"We are not under martial law in my county, Captain!" Valga's voice boomed through the cavernous throne room.

Nerva audibly choked on his sentence when confronted with the countess's naked anger. Kurz smiled and lifted his broad green chin a little higher.

Valga pointed a long well manicured finger at him, "Don't seem so cheeky, fighter! What do you have to say for yourself? You and your brother breached your contract when you left your charges unattended."

Even Kurz understood that surrender was sometimes the best option, "I have nothing to say for that, your highness. We were wrong. No matter what, at least one of us should have stayed with the mages. I... let my frustrations get to me. I failed to control my orc blood. My brother followed my example."

"Oh please," said Nerva, "Lum is the eldest of the two."

"What frustrations are you talking about, fighter?" asked Valga.

The question caught Kurz a little off guard, "Well, your highness, if I wanted to live under the Imperial Legion's yoke I wouldn't have signed up with the Fighters Guild. I've been a body guard before. I know it gets boring. But this is different. The Captain has it in his head that he's at war or about to be. The way he treats people and expects that his will be done at all times is damn infuriating. The first time we met he said if I didn't meet his expectations on how I do _my job_, he was going to kill the mages and end my contract."

Valga's eyes widened and turned to Nerva. Nerva held his hands up, "That is completely out of context..."

"Horse crap, it is," interrupted Kurz. "He literally galloped up to me and said that before taking over the workers. Which I feel I should say, are getting the worst of this deal." Kurz shrugged differentially.

Valga ignored the improper etiquette, "Why do you say this, fighter? Many were poor and destitute before work started."

"Yeah they were broke but at least they could make their own decisions. Even if the choices they had left were bad. But now everything is so regimented and they ain't got no where to go except for Sundas, when the city is open to them."

Nerva burned with rage on the inside. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs about the living conditions and the increasing lawlessness in the camp before his arrival. But he knew something else was happening. The countess was intentionally marginalizing him. No matter what he said he would be worse off.

Valga waited but there was no response from the Captain; only his ramrod military posture and his tortured military bearing were on display. "Captain, I am taking mercy on you and not pressing charges... at this time. But I am sending a letter of reprimand this evening to the Elder Council and I will require your signature before it is sent."

"Yes madam."

"You are dismissed, Captain." Nerva tilted his head and looked at Kurz who was also surprised. "Captain leave. That is an order." Nerva turned and stomped out of the throne room. His armor and boots made as much noise as the blacksmith who originally shaped them on an anvil. Valga beckoned Kurz with her jeweled hand. "I'm not going to overlook your conduct today, fighter, but I do want to thank you."

"For what, your highness?"

"For what you told me about the workers. I have no way of keeping an eye on what is transpiring just outside my city wall. I fear if they are mistreated my county's reputation, not the legion's, shall suffer for it." She paused for a moment and leaned close to his face. "I would like it very much if you were to acquaint yourself more with the workers when you're not guarding the mages."

The hair on the back of Kurz neck stood up. The last time it did that was in a dungeon infested with dreughs. "I don't understand, your highness."

"Well... talk with them. Get to know some of them. Don't let the Captain force you out of the camp and above all else... just be yourself." She placed the palm of her hand on his daedric clad chest, "You look pretty good in this armor, you know. Red and green are complimentary colors in fashion these days."

Kurz smiled and laughed uneasily, "Yeah, I guess so."

The countess looked past Kurz's green head that was shaved clean except for an obsidian black top knot. He looked as well and saw Modryn Oreyn and his brother walking through the entrance hall. She signed, "You must excuse me. I am exhausted and do not wish to speak to your master. Tell him I'll send him correspondence on the matter tomorrow."

"Yes, your highness."

She smiled again in response and left. The countess was not considerably older than Kurz but she was much older than what he looked for in a woman. Yet something about that smile seemed to blot out the wrinkles and the sagging features in her face. He watched her exit the throne room.

Modryn's hair always entered a room before he did. He possessed every quality needed for a respectable leader; intelligence, discipline, experience, and an impressive physical presence. It was beyond anyone's guess as to why he chose to top it off with a humongous mohawk hair style. Kurz marveled at its height and unyielding rigidity atop his dark blue Dunmer head. He always looked to its peak first before greeting the guild master's eyes, "How's your day been Modryn?"

"You've put us in the shit haven't you, Kurz?" asked Modryn. "You've finally done it. With your big mouth and his..."

"Relax, damn it, she's taking our side."

"As relieving as that is I'm taking you off this contract."

"Well don't get too relieved because she just made it clear she wants me and Lum to stay on."

"What? Why? What did she say?"

Kurz lowered his voice, "You tell me. You're the boss. You're supposed to be keeping your finger up to the political wind and all that crap. She's playing at something. She knows I can't get along with that pretty boy 'Nervous Egghead.'"

Modryn thought for a moment, "I don't know much other than these mercenary guards. Almost all of them did brief stints with the guild." Kurz nodded. It was common knowledge amongst the Chorrol guild mates that the new guards were coming from Battlehorn along with the shiny new weapons. Modryn continued, "Normally I would ask Vilena for help but she is abroad right now."

Vilena Donton was the former master of the Fighters Guild. "Where'd she go?" asked Kurz.

"Hammerfell. She went on a diplomatic mission to Hammerfell sanctioned by the Countess."

"Figures," scoffed Kurz.

* * *

Spuria sat in the tall grass and wildflowers of the north eastern Imperial Heartlands just north of the Blue Road. She leaned back stretching her legs out and propping herself up with her hands behind her. She wore a long tan skirt and a brown blouse with short sleeves. The grass tickled her bare arms as it swayed with the constant, gentle easterly wind. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted back to allow the breeze and warm summer sun to caress her face.

"Breath taking, isn't it?"

Spuria opened her eyes and smiled at Itius Hayn's wife, Freya. Mrs. Hayn stood above her on the slope with a basket full of freshly laundered white linens they would be sleeping under that night in their cabin. Freya was referring to the White Gold Tower that stretches to the heavens in the middle of Imperial City. Spuria nodded but did not share the sense of awe on the other woman's face.

"It's amazing how much more you appreciate the city if you step back every now and then to see the whole thing," said Freya. After many cancelations and miscommunications Servantius and Spuria were finally having dinner at the Hayn's cabin. Spuria had not seen Itius since he questioned her after the killing of the legionnaire on the Red Ring Road. His wife did not share the same Cyrodiilic features as he and his son. She was a tall blond haired Nord. Freya was a few years older than Spuria but still looked vigorous and healthy. She shifted the weight of the basket to her hip to offer Spuria a hand up, "Come, the boys are almost done at the fire pit."

Spuria took Freya's hand and was effortlessly lifted off of her rump. As they walked back towards the cabin Spuria looked at the other cabins on top of the hill. Most were of the same size and they numbered just under twenty. There was a girl playing with a dog in front of one cabin with her doting parents sitting on the porch. There was another picnic happening at a cabin at the north end of the settlement.

The fire pit next to the picnic table smelled of coal, herbs, and sweet caramelized glaze. The men stood triumphantly around a platter of expertly grilled boar carried by the son, Alvis. Despite the Nordic name, Alvis clearly took after his father in appearance. He was fifteen, fit, and handsome. The young man set the platter in the center of the table amongst baked potatoes, corn, fresh bread, and a kettle of steaming vegetable stew. The five diners took their seats at the table.

Itius sniffed loudly and smiled, "I'll give thanks. Let us bow." The tabled obeyed and he continued, "Praise be the Nine for this plentiful meal. We give special thanks to Akatosh, may he see over out blessed empire and keep us safe. To Stendar, for overseeing the strength and well being of the Legion so that it may protect the innocent. To Mara, for insuring the bountiful harvest. And to Kyareth, for her tears that bring the life giving rain."

"Amen," said the table as one. Immediately they dug into the meal quickly grabbing plates of food and passing them around.

"You were right, Itius," said Spuria, "there are almost enough homes to make some kind of township here. Do you think that will happen?"

Itius shook his head as he swallowed a mouth full of corn, "Probably not. The homes you see here are sitting on leased land. I don't think the owner has plans to make it into a municipality. Because then you must have a council, provide services, collect local taxes, pay imperial taxes, and so on and so forth."

"Who owns the land?" asked Servantius.

"Roland Jenseric," replied Itius with a grin.

"Really?" said Servantius with a surprised look.

"That's why all these cabins are owned by imperial watchmen."

"Who is Roland Jenseric?" asked Spuria.

"He's a citizen in the city who... provides services to the government from time to time."

"A noble?" asked Spuria.

"No," interrupted Alvis excitedly, "he's a vampire hunter. He leads an order of vampire hunters that scour the city and heartlands for blood suckers. We'd all be cattle for the walking dead if it tweren't for them."

"Alvis," said Freya with a hint of sternness.

"It's true! They cleaned out a vampire cave in between here and Cheydinhal two years ago."

"Alvis, that's enough," said Itius. "We're eating."

Spuria decided to return to her original thought, "I just thought it was strange. So many people seem to be inching there way out of the cities and nobody is saying anything about it."

"You really think so?" asked Servantius before bringing a glass of wine to his lips.

"I know so. I see the censuses. All of the townships and settlements are getting larger and the walled cities are losing people like cracked cups of water."

Freya shrugged, "I know I feel safer out here. The cities were where the Daedra attacked."

Alvis nodded in agreement and said, "I stopped having the nightmares when I moved into the cabin last year."

Freya turned to Spuria and Servantius, "Alvis and I were stuck in the streets when Mehrunes Dagon attacked. We ran into some creatures and they nearly killed Alvis." She shook her head sadly, "He was only five."

Alvis lifted his shirt up to reveal a scar that covered most of his torso and wrapped around his back. "It was a Spider Daedra. She poisoned me and it got infected."

"Alvis," said Itius, "_again_, we're eating."

"I'm sorry. I'm just explaining."

"Besides, that won't happen again. Martin, the Avatar of Akatosh, saw to that."

"I don't know," said Freya softly.

"That's blasphemy, honey," Itius shot back. "The jaws of Oblivion are shut for all time now. Cryodiil is safe."

Spuria did not like how Itius was reacting to this topic so she moved on to something else, "So Alvis, you're almost seventeen. Will you be joining the Legion like your father?"

"No," replied Alvis. "I want to become an alchemist."

"Wow," said Spuria. "Are you going to apply to the Arcane University?"

"Nah," said the teenager with a dismissive wave. "You don't need them to be an alchemist. Besides I already have my own alchemy set and this area is full of ingredients. I already have a trainer too. He lives in Cheydinhal."

Spuria pointed a fork with a sliver of moist white meat on it at Itius, "How do you feel about that?"

"I'm fine with it as long as he runs an honest business and doesn't give way to greed," said Itius. A poignant look from Freya gave Spuria the impression that this was not always his opinion.

Alvis leaned close to Spuria, "Father bought me a traveling case for my set. Do you want to see it?"

"Sure," she replied. The young man asked to be excused and trotted back to the cabin.

"You might want to be careful," whispered Servantius. "I think the boy is sweet on you."

"What? No."

"He's got a thing for merfolk, my lady," said Itius smiling widely. "You should see some of the sketches his mother found under his bed." Freya slapped her husband hard on the shoulder. Servantius laughed.

Itius looked back at the cabin before speaking again, "So I hear there's trouble at the construction site."

"Yes," said Servantius. "Nerva got in a fight with a Fighters Guild member and the countess took their side. I must say I'm disappointed in Nerva. I cannot believe he handled it so badly."

"So what's going to happen now?"

"I told Nerva to wait a while. Not to investigate anything for the time being. How goes it with the White Rose murder?" Spuria did her best not to stop breathing.

"The trail is as cold as Skyrim. We're finally resorting to a cash reward."

Servantius shook his head and sighed.

"Why haven't you tried that before?" asked Freya.

"It's always better to solve a case through a normal investigation. A reward, which might turn up something, always makes things more complicated."

"How so?" asked Spuria.

"Well there's always the motive of the person claiming the reward to question. If they did not come forward before, why are they doing so now? The answer to that is usually linked to their character which typically ranges form gossip hound to scum bag. Then there is the validity of the claim. Not only do you have to investigate the claim but whether or not the person making it is likely telling you the truth. And finally there is the problem of payment. We don't have a reward fund. It has to be scratched together from a variety of places and the person filing the claim thinks they will be paid upon giving us their information. Some refuse to share the information unless they have the money up front. If not they walk away and we have to wonder if they were genuine or out to hoodwink us."

"You don't sound hopeful," said Spuria.

"Anything can happen," said Itius.

* * *

Mariana slipped her boots on and left her room at the Three Sisters Lodge. She had arranged for a Fighters Guild member to serve as her escort to Etzel Ferrer's home. For some reason her escort had to come from the Anvil chapter. She supposed it had something to do with the amount of septims she could afford to offer. She descended the stairs to the lobby and dining area. A group of elderly commoners chatted while they ate breakfast in the corner of the building. At the bar was a man clad in leather armor eating a bowl of buckwheat and rye kasha. Mariana approached him and asked, "Are you Hakon?"

He turned and smiled, "You must be Mariana. Yes, I'm Hakon Falk, your escort. Are you ready to go?"

"Please, finish your meal," she replied. Mariana looked over Hakon while he continued to shovel large bites of food into his mouth. His armor was cheap and the leather needed oiled. His weapons were adequate (a simple bow and a steel saber) but not what you normally expected from the Fighters Guild. "So how long have you been with the guild?"

"Nine months. But I've been an independent scout for several years. I know the borders pretty well."

"Ah, I see."

"So actually you're getting a little more than what you paid for," he said seeming to read her mind.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend. I just..."

He held up his finger and spoke with his mouth full of brown mush, "That's alright. Everyone is always nervous about who they'll be paired up with when they go out into the wilderness. You have a map?"

Before she left, Caratacus drew her a map to Etzel's house. He had been one of the people to help Etzel build it and knew the location well. She handed it to Hakon.

Hakon studied it for a few seconds, "I know where this is. It can get a little hairy around these parts but it will be okay. There's a path to an Alied ruin called Silorn. It's pretty safe because the ruin is encamped by battle mages."

"Why?"

"Something big went down there a few years ago. The Mage Guild was called in so most assume it had to do with necromancers. Anyways... we'll swing around the beginning of the Strid River at Silorn and head southwest from there. We'll need to be aware of trolls in that part of the West Weald. If I'm reading this map right, the house will be near a cliff at the border of Vallenwood. Be there in seven hours."

"Could we camp at the ruin if it takes longer?"

"Eh, maybe. But battle mages on guard can be a touchy lot; if you've never dealt with them. They've seen some crazy things before and it affects them more than is let on. It's best we make a good pace out and hurry back. It will be fine if we travel this area at night a little. Is your horse in good health?"

The voyage went as described by Hakon. They traveled the path to Silorn and were indeed stopped and questioned by battle mages upon arriving there. Along the way Hakon had spotted some troll tracks and droppings but remained confident that they would be safe. Eventually they came to a cliff that seemed to go for miles. He pointed to it and said, "One of the many fortunate natural barriers that keep us safe from invasion. If Vallenwood got its political act together and seceded they must cross the Strid, repel down these cliffs or find a bottle neck in between the two to attack. It won't be long now." They quickened their trot west until finally they found a home. But the land around it was densely overgrown with wild grass and weeds. Hakon motioned for her to dismount and stay quiet. She did as told. He handed her the reigns of his horse and motioned for her to stay put near a tree.

Mariana watched Hakon stalk closer to the home. He would move quickly in a crouch to some cover like a bush or rock, stop, look around, and repeat. Before jumping the stone fence he drew his sword and looked back at her. He mouthed something and pulled a bottle from his pouch. He tossed the bottle at the water well just beyond the fence and it burst into flames. Loud screeches of pain followed and she saw three trolls scrambling around with fire eating away at their fur. She screamed in surprise. She heard a grunt from the forest behind her and a rustling. "Hakon!" she yelled. Mariana groped for a dagger at her belt but in her panic could not produce it. Both horses yanked free of her grip and galloped away. A troll was bounding towards her using both its feet and its knuckles to run. She froze right before it toppled her over. She rolled through the dirt. Once stopped, she tried to push herself up from the ground. But one of her arms were seized and she was dragged onto her back flailing her legs. She looked up in time to see the troll bite deep into her forearm. The troll's three eyes watched the horror on her face. She could smell its fetid brown fur and skuzzy black flesh. Saliva and blood welled up in between its lips and her flesh. Mariana screamed again squeezing her eyes shut. She was immediately released. All was silent. She heard nothing. She saw nothing. _Am I dead_, she thought.

"Wake up, lady!" shouted Hakon. He shook her limp body.

She reached to embrace him, "Oh, Hakon..."

Hakon recoiled and set her back on the ground, "Lady, I need to get those horses you let go!" He ran off to let her sob accompanied only by a troll carcass with an arrow embedded in the base of its skull. She found her dagger and used it to cut a bandage from the bottom of her shirt to stop the bleeding. Once that was tied she looked at Etzel's house. Not only had it been abandoned but it was boarded up. The windows were covered with thick planks of wood and the door was barred and chained. _What happened here_, she wondered. _Where was Etzel? Did he die? Did he move back to the city or elsewhere?_ The unresolved questions ricocheting through her mind compelled Mariana to make a closer inspection of the place.

She scaled the chest high stone fence and waded through the stench of charred troll. They had torn up what must have been Etzel's garden. The barred front door also had an Imperial Legion seal on it made of flimsy tin. Even more questions arose in her mind and the frustration caused by her inability to reconcile them fanned the flames of her temper. The boards of the windows were held in place by thick iron spikes with flared ends. Although she had no chance of budging them she tried anyways.

"What are you doing?" asked Hakon.

Mariana turned to see him riding her horse. "I need to get in here," she said.

"You need that wound properly dressed."

Mariana looked down at her bloodied arm and let go of the plank she was tugging at. "Where's your horse?"

Hakon shook his head, "Apparently still running. I was able to catch up to your horse because it was exhausted."

"I'm sorry."

Hakon dismounted without a response and pulled from Mariana's saddle bag a handful of aloe vera leaves he had found along the way. Taking more fabric from her sleeve he made another bandage, cleaned the wound with water, and applied an ample amount of the soothing clear gel from the plant to the bite. "Now," he said after tying the new bandage around her forearm, "We need to turn back."

She looked at the door again, "No. I need to find out what happened here."

"Lady, that's a legion seal on that door. If we go in there and break that little piece of metal, that is a serious criminal offense. Neither of us wants that on our record. I would definitely be suspended form the guild and you could easily lose your job."

Mariana thought for a moment, "We'll be in and out in no time."

"Listen... you've got other concerns. That horse isn't mine. It belongs to the guild. They are going to want reimbursement."

"I'm not paying for your horse!"

"You're the one that let it go."

"I was attacked by a troll."

"It attacked you because you screamed, you stupid wench!"

Mariana's jaw dropped.

"Let's just get back on that horse and make our way for Skingrad. You can probably find out what happened at the county watch office."

"Well maybe I don't feel like sharing my horse with you now."

Hakon scowled at her. "You have some nerve. Fine. I'm going back to Anvil. Good luck finding your way through these woods."

"You're going to leave me here?"

"What choice do I have, lady? Stay with you and break a legion seal or cut my losses and take a hike along the Strid."

"If you do that I'm not only suing you for breach of contract but for whatever might happen to me on my way back."

Hakon's jaw dropped this time, "You're going to sue me?"

"The guild actually. They will most likely ban you for life."

Hakon shook his head, "This is insane. Five minutes, lady. That is all you're getting." He pulled a lock pick kit from a pouch on his belt and began probing inside the thick steel padlock. "Why in oblivion did you not write to him first?"

"I need his help with something. It would be harder for him to say no in person."

Hakon scoffed, "That certainly fits your personality." The lock clicked and popped open. He removed it and paused. The thick hinged plate holding the bar in place was also attached to the piece of tin bearing the Imperial Legion seal. The red dragon and diamond shield gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Hakon jerked the plate open, threw the bar up, and ignored the sound the tin made as it clanked off the weedy stone walk in front of the house. He motioned inside, "After you."

Mariana cautiously entered as if there were more trolls on the inside. Immediately she saw that the house had been on fire. Soot covered every surface and darkened the windows. But the house was largely intact. Large pieces of furniture were present but they had no decorations on them. Pale squares served as evidence that paintings once hung on the walls. She walked to the hearth. There was a large scorch in front of it on the marble floor and the wood ceiling above. It was in the shape of an oval and obviously the source of the fire. The wood was burned almost all the way through.

"This is so weird," said Hakon, now intrigued. "Why didn't it burn down?"

Mariana didn't take her eyes from the scorch mark, "The wood has been treated with an expensive retardant. Alchemist in the city developed it a few years ago. Not many homes have used it because of the price but when Etzel does something he does it right."

"But what happened right here? Was it a grease fire?"

"Maybe," she said thinking that was a plausible yet unlikely explanation given its shape.

"So where is this Etzel? People don't abandon a perfectly good house for something like this."

Mariana's voice quaked, "He's dead. It's the only explanation." She moved to a desk in the corner of the parlor and rifled through the doors. "Where did all his things go?"

"I'd say they've been handed over to his kinfolk or they are in the county vault."

"Stay down here. I'm searching up stairs."

"Be quick."

Mariana bounded up the stairs. On the second floor there was hardly any smoke damage. This meant not only did the fire stay isolated to one area but it did not last long. Small personal affects were missing from this floor as well. The bed had no mattress. Sheets covered chairs. A wine rack had no bottles. She went through the drawers of the furniture quickly but came away with nothing. She returned downstairs.

Hakon waited tensely with his mouth tight and his posture rigid, "Anything?"

"No. Nothing. I don't get it. How did I not hear about this? I read the _Courier_ everyday. There was no mention of this. Nobody in the Engineer Corps knows either. What in oblivion happened?"

"Well when we go to Skingrad we're bound to find out," said Hakon in a matter of fact tone.

"We can't do that. Then the legion could find out we were here."

Hakon laughed, "I wouldn't worry about that now. Take a look outside."

Marinana walked to the door and cracked it open. In the distance she could clearly make out a group of legionnaires at the tree line. She closed the door and turned to Hakon with an ashen face.

"I thought you should speak to them first," said Hakon.

* * *

It was well past midnight when Captain Dion of the Skingrad city watch entered the county dungeon inside the castle. It irked him greatly that the Legion had brought this matter to him. Sure it was his jurisdiction but it was their arrest. He descended the final flight of steps and found the two intruders at the jailors desk with their hands in shackles. The items on their persons had been confiscated but they still retained their garb. Three of the legionnaires stood in the corner waiting patiently. "Gentleman, why am I awake at this ungodly hour? Old men like me need our rest."

One of the legionnaires stepped forward, "Sergeant Lachlan Avitus of the Third Legion, sir. We found these two intruders in the abandoned house near the beginning of the Strid by the Vallenwood border. They slew some trolls broke an Imperial Legion seal, number three delta four five one." He tossed the broken tin piece on the jailors desk. "We request you detain and charge them to the fullest extent of the law."

Mariana looked petrified at Hakon but he did not seem too bothered by the request.

"Fullest extent," replied Dion noting the lack of reaction, "could be five years hard labor in a foreign mine." Again Dion failed to read Hakon.

The sergeant said nothing.

Dion turned to the jailor, "Have we verified their identities?"

"Hakon Falk is a registered Fighters Guild member but we won't know about Mariana Ancetus until tomorrow at the earliest," said the jailor.

Dion nodded. He walked over to the desk and picked up the seal, "Ms. Ancetus, what business did you and your escort have in the West Weald?"

Mariana's voice was meek, "I was visiting a friend from the Engineer Corps named Etzel Ferrer. He lived in the abandoned house. Did you know him?"

"I'm asking the questions now. How well did you know him?"

"He was an instructor and mentor to me when I first joined the Corps."

"Why did you seek him?"

"I'm working on the construction of the White Road and needed his help with some things."

"What things?"

Mariana thought for a moment, "I know he made the original plans. I wanted his opinion on some troubling matters regarding the road."

Dion took one quick step forward and was eyeball to eyeball with Mariana, "Listen missy, don't make me repeat myself. It's late, I'm tired, and the two of you are guilt as sin so you had best answer my questions when I ask them!"

"I... I did," Mariana stammered.

"Dagon's arse, you did!" Dion shouted in her face. "Replace the word things with matters and it's the same question. Now I'll repeat: What things?"

Mariana was flinching at the Captain's every word and on the verge of tears, "Uh... labor problems. Logistic problems. He... He... could talk to the project director and fix them."

Dion stepped back, "Etzel Ferrer is dead. He burned alive in his home, as you now know. But you must also know that he was retired at the time. Why go to him now?"

Mariana had feared that was how Etzel died but hearing it caused her even greater pain, "I just suspected he had been left out of the loop and... could do something."

"And this suspicion was so great you had to break Imperial law to exercise it?"

"Uh... I... no sir." Mariana bowed her head.

"And you, Fighter," continued Dion, "you know better as well. Do you think the Guild will allow you to stay with them after this?" once again he brandished the tin seal.

Hakon shrugged indifferently, "I think you should answer _her_ question now."

Everyone in the room looked at Hakon like he was crazy. Dion folded his arms, "What?"

"How well did you know him, Captain?"

Dion grinned slightly, "I don't have to answer your questions, prisoner." The Legion sergeant shifted about in his armor uneasily.

"Did you ever talk to him?" asked Hakon. "Ever see him around town or traveling the country side? Did he have friends in the city? You see... it just seems to me the location of the house is pretty convenient in a way. It's too far away from the city to be an attractive home but it's right by the Strid and the border."

"That is none of you business," hissed Sergeant Avitus.

Hakon's shackles prevented him from lifting his hands above his waist so he pointed at the legionnaires thighs, "Ah, but it's yours... right? Mariana here says nobody in the Engineer Corps knew about the old man's death and I missed it in the _Black Horse_ _Courier_ myself. I stay up on the obituaries. Something like this would have caught my eye because I used to make money on the side at estate sales held by the counties."

The hair on Dion's neck bristled.

"Isn't it customary to notify the _Black Horse Courier_ when an unusual death like this occurs?"

"There is no law stating I have to notify anybody but the next of kin."

Hakon nodded, "And the old man didn't have any, did he?"

"He did," interrupted Mariana. "He had an estranged ex wife."

"Oh," said Hakon, "so this is how I think it happened: These fellows in the corner came across the deceased Mr. Ferrer and brought his remains to you. They in a round about way asked if you could keep the death quiet and see if anybody came to claim the property. When that didn't happen you had his things moved to the county vault and the house boarded up and sealed. If memory serves me correct, in Skingrad county kin have a three year period before unclaimed property such as this becomes the domain of the county _and is then auctioned off_. But there wasn't going to be an auction. When that time came the legion had plans to fortify it a little bit and turn it into a nice border outpost. Now you and your count don't necessarily want a larger legion presence in your jurisdiction but lending them this property does provide you with a little reassuring comfort." Hakon smiled broadly.

Dion looked down for a moment then to Sergeant Falk who glared back at him and shook his head. "Jailor," Dion finally said, "release them."

The sergeant stomped off in a huff all the way up the dungeon steps with the two legionnaires in his wake. Once the jailor removed Hakon's shackles he said, "I am on my way back to Anvil." Hakon quickly grabbed his weapons from a rack and his belt and pouches from a shelf. He waved while exiting the dungeon.

"I have some more questions," said Mariana as the jailor removed her shackles.

"Go ahead."

"How did Etzel burn to death?"

"Legionnaires found his remains in the center of a large scorch mark by the fireplace. They were running patrols past there at least once a week and they think they just missed him on their last pass. The body was utterly destroyed. We only had the skull and part of the pelvic bone when we received... do you want to sit down?"

Mariana was unaware she was covering her mouth and clutching her chest, "No. I'm fine."

"Anyways, they had to pry his remains off the floor because there was some kind of sticky residue holding it. I think he had a carpet or rug that was cheaply made. Perhaps he tripped and became incapacitated when the fire started."

"Did you see the house?"

"No. Some of my guards that are trained to investigate crimes were sent."

"And what did they decide?"

Dion wondered if Mariana was actually listening to him, "Cause of death was accidental. He fell and was killed as a result of a fire hazard."

"I can't accept that. Etzel was extremely safety conscious. He would never put something that flammable next to a fireplace. What about foul play?"

"There is absolutely no evidence of that."

"If there was evidence of that I guess it would be harder to move the troops into Etzel's bedroom."

"You better watch your mouth. That scrapper might have sprung you from jail but don't think for a second I won't throw you back in. Fact is I have seen Etzel. He was an old man; a grumpy one that doesn't get around too well. He moved all the way down there, far from the city, and then would come up to Skingrad and belly ache about how tough it is to live in seclusion. I saw him at the food markets trying to sell his crops but he was never satisfied by the offers he received. Etzel would hobble around to every buyer in the market then in the late hours of the afternoon limp back to a buyer he felt least embarrassed about approaching again."

Dion continued, "At the house there was no evidence of forced entry, theft, or a struggle. There was no witness to interrogate. There was no one with a motive to murder the old man. So what's left other than an old man carrying a candle perhaps trips and knocks himself unconscious thus dying in the fire he started?"

* * *

The Skingrad Castle gate open slowly, as to not cause a noisy disturbance so early in the morning. Mariana tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the grinding gears and great clanking chains pulled the doors open. The night air was warm but dry and the moon was large and bright above. She did not know what to do with this knowledge of Etzel's death. Moreover, she did not know what it meant. Etzel drew up those plans, of that she was convinced. But was he killed for them? If he was who did it? The most likely suspect would be those who would profit from it. That could be any number of merchants, nobles, and even the counts of Chorol and Skingrad. Was Dion covering up a scandal or did he truly believe Etzel had accidently killed himself? There were just too many questions. She could not let this rest. Mariana resolved to seek the help of her fellow engineers and seek an investigation from the Imperial Court.

Finally the gates had opened wide enough to allow her to pass through. Once she did she was startled to find Hakon sitting on the stone bridge that spanned the gorge between the two peeks that overlooked the opulent city of Skingrad. The torches lit the bridge and shadows crisscrossed Hakon's face. "I thought you had left," said Mariana.

"Well I decided to wait for you. I wanted some company while I walked to the city gate. I think it will be less likely for Avitus and his friends to jump out of a bush and rough me up."

"I see."

"And I wanted to apologize to you for insulting you earlier."

"I'm sorry too. I wasn't going to sue the guild."

Hakon smiled and stood, "So what are you going to do now?"

"I'll return to Chorol tomorrow. Maybe some of the other engineers will have an idea of how to look into this thing deeper." The two of them started to walk along the bridge to the city.

"I know this Etzel was a friend to you but... think about how important you were to him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean; don't stir up a hornets nest. Something might happen to you that Etzel wouldn't want to see."

* * *

"Notes payable?" asked Chancellor Ocato. He along with a few members of the Elder Council sat in the council chamber at the great circular table opposite of Manius Mocius, Servantius Quintilius, and Spuria Cominius early Morndas morning. All present, with the exception of Servantius, wore their official imperial robes, the most elaborate belonging to the elders. "The common man can't feel the weight of paper promises as much as septims in their pocket, Lord Treasurer."

"I understand sir," replied Manius, "but right now that is the best option. Those who are having their money sent strait home to family members will retain their pay in septims but those who are being paid in currency at the camp will be given notes because they are already having food and shelter provided for them. If you want to keep this project and this government running then we have got to cut expenses because these bonds are being redeemed at a faster and faster rate."

"If we do this," said an Elder Council member with a long white beard and a bald head, "we risk at worst a labor revolt or at least a reduction in productivity."

"And productivity has been surprisingly high," chimed another elder.

"But, as we discussed earlier that is also compounding our problems by pushing longer term expenses into a shorter term via material and service costs," said Manius.

"To be ahead of schedule is a good thing, Lord Treasurer," said the elder. "If the project experiences further problems that extra progress serves as a cushion. Yes?"

"True," Manius was forced to admit, "If the project runs longer than expected that means we will face a larger long term expense via wages and other benefits paid to workers. But a balance must be struck."

A Breton elder spoke up, "Nonsense. No balance must be struck. We still pay the Sixth Legion on time with septims, do we not?"

All eyes shifted to Servantius. He held still and said, "Sire, I attribute the current success on two things. The meticulous process of the construction and the discipline and peace Captain Egnatius has established there. If we use First Cohort to enforce working standards rather than living standards and security we will upset that peace and discipline."

"A peace which he jostled this week with his poor handling of the Fighters Guild situation."

"Yes sire," was all Servantius said.

The room was silent for a while. "Does the Department of Interior have anything to say on these matters?"

Spuria leaned forward, "Nothing of consequence, Chancellor. I support the Council in whatever decision they make. I do believe, however, that the Lord Treasurer is right. Something is going to give and we must choose wisely what it is." _But you have no idea what you are up against_, she thought.


	8. Chapter 8: Drumbeat of Conspiracy

**Blood On The White Road**

by

Cryptic Mystic

Chapter 8: Drumbeat of Conspiracy

* * *

_Black Horse Courier_

_Fridas Edition_

_Brindle Home to Become Brindlburg?_

_by Waldorf Wordswell_

_A sleepy little farming village called Brindle Home situated between Chorrol and Skingrad has aspirations of becoming Cyrodiil's next big city. Brindle Home will be connected to their wealthy neighbors by the White Road construction project in less than a year's time. Although it was generally assumed in the Heartlands and West Weald that Brindle Home would benefit from it's location on the road no one guessed they would submit an application for an article of incorporation that would designate it as a city and a county seat._

_When asked about why this decision was made parish councilman Merildor had this to say, "We understand this won't be popular with our neighbors to the north and south but after the Imperial government took a good portion of our land under eminent domain we saw the winds of change coming. Why not sail them? So we're drawing up plans for a permanent legion barracks, a covered market place, a stable and wagon repair facility, and many other things."_

_Being on the new road and having great resources available to them does give the people of Brindle Home a good chance of being incorporated. But some may question their ability to build and administer a large municipality given their accustomed lifestyle as a wilderness village. A village that has on its parish council's roster a man named "Torbal the Sufficient" may not possess the finances, contacts, experience, and pedigree needed for such a task._

_Because the Black Horse Courier received this news so close to print time we were unable to obtain official statements from either Chorrol or Skingrad but thanks to a hot tip and the fast feet of Hassiri we were able to find Count Hassildor's personal steward Hal-Liurz. She was visiting the Mage's Guild on official business. "This is quite surprising but my best guess is the village will not be incorporated." She declined to say anything further but rest assured The Black Horse Courier will bring you the latest news regarding this development. _

Countess Arriana Valga looked up from her copy of the paper. Her steward usually delivered her correspondence and copy of _The Courier_ in the morning while having breakfast in the dining hall but today it was Francois Motierre. She turned her attention back to her meal and forked a piece of sausage, "Don't you have to be in the mountains to be considered a burg?"

"That's just one of the names they are considering, your highness," replied Motierre.

"And this is your doing?"

Motierre smiled and nodded.

"Well done sir knight. Well done."

"But this is as far as I can take it. They will need far more money than I can arrange."

"Indeed. Do they know who you are?"

"No I conferred with them in disguise and under an alias."

"That was also a good move. We cannot directly aid these people. That will upset relations with Skingrad and expose us to unwanted scrutiny. But if we have the idea planted in the nobility of Cheydinhal and Bruma that they can push forward candidates to fill the county seats then they will stumble all over themselves to help these people build their little forest kingdom."

"But you do realize that this new city has the potential to take away our own county revenue, don't you?"

"Not significantly because they will fail. While secretly supporting the idea we will publically denounce it and petition the Empire to reject the application. But not until the barracks are built and the Legion is moved away from my city. Until then we will try to coerce the government agencies involved to stall everything and keep Count Hassildor from throwing his full weight into the fray. We may even be able to get Anvil and Bravil on our side. Although they chafe at the idea of our new road, but not as much as Bruma and Cheydinhal, they do not want to compete with yet another city in addition to a rebuilt Kvatch. Or did you have designs as the Count of Brindlburg?"

Motierre grinned, "I like Brindlton better."

"Mmm. What is the name of your alias?"

Motierre considered lying but thought it very likely to be discovered anyway, "Alastar Cummins. He is a traveling noble who maintains a token address in the Imperial City."

"I see. You must take great care not to be revealed, Sir Motierre. It will be dangerous for both of us." The countess stared off into a corner of the hall for a moment.

"You're Highness?"

"It is a fine plan but one never knows how these things unfold. A stronger impetus behind it would be nice. Perhaps the divines will render a clearer opportunity." She shook her head, "So tell me... what of this news about the laborers wages?"

"The Imperial government will start issuing what is being called notes payable to workers who are receiving their pay at the camps. They can redeem them for septims but they must do so at the Imperial City or they may be used to purchase things they need in Chorrol. We are expected to honor these notes and courier them to the Imperial City for reimbursement."

The countess's face darkened, "That is quite disconcerting. Our vault was getting a very nice boost to its capital with all of the deposits we were collecting."

"We can still collect deposits with the notes, your Highness. We will just need to send the notes upon a withdrawal."

Valga dropped her fork and knife on the table and looked at Motierre, "Sir, I assure you that this will cause a panic among these commoners. They'll request withdrawals immediately and when the septims come they'll turn around and stuff them back in the vaults while we choke on the transportation costs. I'm going to have the lawyers draft a formal protest to the Elder Council."

* * *

Nerva Egnatius ran his fingers through his short cropped blonde hair and shut his eyes, "Are you sure that is all that was said?"

"Yes," replied Dynari, "for the third time."

The thief and soldier were seated in Nerva's command tent in the 6th Legions camp. Dynari had told Nerva what her spies inside the engineer's house heard from Mariana. It was completely plausible that the death of her mentor was an accident and she was simply in denial but Nerva's gut told him there was something more. It was too convenient for Motierre. "How did the other engineers react?"

"There was a lot of doubt. Some even made jokes about it after she had left. A few of them wanted to know more but they probably will do nothing."

"And Marinana?"

"Who knows? Maybe she'll contact her superiors in the Imperial City or maybe she will keep her head down. Those are her choices."

Nerva thought aloud, "Etzel Ferrer designs the road. Motierre finds out about it. He kills Etzel, masks the origin of the plan, and proposes it as his own to Countess Valga. Countess Valga forms this committee and combines forces with Skingrad to get the Empire to fund it. Motierre is knighted and made a rich man." He paused and tilted his head, "And then there's this Brindle Home thing." He picked up his copy of _The_ _Black Horse Courier_ and studied it.

"You think they're connected?" asked Dynari.

"Why not? We know he's been traveling down south lately. I can put in a confidential inquiry to Third Legion. They'll confirm whether or not he's been in Skingrad. If not, then maybe he went to Brindle Home." He stood and began to pace. "I'm not a lawyer but even I know this evidence is highly circumstantial. But it must be him behind it all. These things don't happen out of thin air. You have children in the city, yes?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"One of them just fell very ill and you must tend to them. While you're there tell Major Quintilius of what you have found. I'll have Amusei go to Skingrad and search the vault for Etzel's personal affects. Perhaps something will turn up."

"Skingrad's vault? That's suicide. There is no way Amusei or any of us for that matter can pull that off."

"He's been inside Chorrol's vault with no trouble at all."

"There is absolutely no comparison between the two. I'll go to Imperial City and tell Armand what you want but I am certain he will refuse. Perhaps your time operating in the shadows is over, soldier."

Despite his consternation Nerva had to smile, "I must say there is a comfort to be found there. To see and affect things without consequence."

Dynari leaned back in her chair and returned the smile, "Well that's when you know it _is_ time to quit. When you believe there is no consequence you have replaced confidence with hubris. Hubris will only lead to tragic failure."

* * *

Chancellor Ocato and Lord Treasurer Mocius patiently waited in the luxurious dining hall of the Tiber Septim Hotel in Talos Plaza. The long table had three places set for breakfast with pure silverware, fine crystal glass, fine satin-like napkins folded meticulously into crowns, and steaming mugs of black tea. Around them hung velvet tapestries, coats of arms, and expensive original paintings from Rythe Lythandas. There third would arrive any moment.

"You know Chancellor, the creativity of the Elder Council never ceases to amaze me," said Mocius. "I thought the solution to our fiscal problem was quite strait forward, however painful it might have been."

Ocato sighed, "To a politician no question, answer, or solution is strait forward. It is all skewed, biased, secretive, and coded, Lord Treasurer. We need a buyer for our bonds. One that has the money and has a vested interest in the Empire; an interest stronger than the provinces."

Mocius leaned forward and whispered although they were alone and the hall was guarded, "But I've heard by some reliable sources that their interests are not so strong."

"That is wild conjecture old friend."

"You hope."

"I'm not leaving it up to hope. If he doesn't back us then the Elder Council will grow more suspicious. If he does back us then they will be hard pressed to continue with this innuendo."

"He may believe he has no choice."

"With what we're going to ask there is a definite choice. He is willing to sacrifice to help sustain the Empire or he will watch it flounder and reap the rewards."

"If you say so. I will leave the politicking to you."

They waited in silence for a few more minutes sipping their tea and contemplating all the possible outcomes of their meeting. The door to the dinning hall clicked and eased open. Thoronir, the Bosmer in charge of the headquarters for Dragon Trusts Inter-Provincial Trade Company, poked his head through. As if he could possibly be in the wrong room. "Good morning, Chancellor and Lord Treasurer," said Thoronir. "To what do I owe this honor?" He stepped forward but his face was taut with anxiety.

Ocato and Mocius stood and politely bowed. Ocato said, "Thank you for coming, Thoronir. Please have a seat. We have some business we would like to discuss." Thoronir took his place at the table and they all were seated. Mocius poured some tea into his mug and smiled broadly. Ocato continued, "Citizen Thoronir, if we had something to communicate to Sir Merton Balik how long would a response take?"

"My word, who is to say, Chancelor? Even I don't have knowledge about his day to day whereabouts. Is it urgent?"

"Yes. It most certainly is."

Thoronir produced a small book from his breast pocket and flipped through it, "If I was a betting man I would put my money on him porting in Senchal in six day's time. He has reserved a dock and requested two new sails to be shipped there."

"Senchal is at the very edge of Topal Bay," said Mocius. "He could be here in Imperial City in seven or eight days if he wanted to."

"I'm sorry Lord Treasurer, it would be best if the Champion was not hindered at this time of year. But if he deemed your request for his presence necessary, then yes, he could be here in a week."

"Of course he is free to do as he pleases," said Ocato. "He is the Champion of Cyrodiil and has done more for the Empire than any of us. But we do have a... proposition for him."

"Well I'll be glad to convey it to my master, Chancellor."

"I'm sure you are aware that the Empire is experiencing financial difficulties, sir. I cannot confirm or deny anything you may have heard. But the Champion has another opportunity to show the Empire his grace and allegiance."

"I understand."

Ocato leaned forward and perked his ears, "We need Dragon Trusts to guarantee our bonds to the provinces, Thoronir. We need them to reinvest their interest. Something they are failing to do. If they don't, times in the Empire will be tough and in turn they will be tougher in the provinces. We promise you this."

Thoronir was all ears now. The provinces were where Dragon Trusts did most of its business. He looked down at his tea, "I see. How can my master serve the Empire?"

Mocius laced his fingers together and set his elbows on the table, "We need you to provide insurance to bond buyers and convince them to buy."

"Uh... how... how much?"

"Four hundred million."

The two officials watched Thoronir's mind get washed away with a great tide of anxiety and awe. His eyes were wide and his tea cup was now slanted so much it would soon spill on his chest. Finally he managed to say, "Gentlemen that is a lot of septims. To generate the capital we would have to liquidate..."

Mocius waved him off, "No. You don't have to buy the bonds. All you do is provide insurance in case confidence in them plummets, which shan't happen if you back them. You'll only have to put up a fraction of the money as collateral. The rest you provide through credit with your various business partners."

"Even still, Lord Treasurer, my master has plans for the future of the company. Plans which will unfold over the course of decades. This will most likely put them to a halt."

"We understand Citizen Thoronir. All that we ask is that you take our request to the Champion. We know he will do what is right."

* * *

Spuria reviewed her morning papers and correspondence rapidly. Ever since her meeting with Mocius she had a renewed sense of purpose. She really felt as if things were happening and the road would be stopped. Sometimes fate hovers over like storm clouds. She could feel it in the air. And she was right. While shifting some papers closer to her one of them stirred peculiarly. Something about the color seemed to change. It appeared to be just another report from a forest ranger. She picked it up and the neat crisp black writing on it seemed to bleed into red and form different words. The text was archaic; almost like daedric scripture.

She looked up to her office door. It was open but nobody could see the paper the way she was holding it. It read:

_At dusk be at the Kynareth shrine. Be prepared for anything. Be ready to blend into the night. It is time. Amir._

Spuria wadded the paper up and before she could toss it into the trash basket it fell apart in a cloud of fine white ash. She looked down at the mess on her floor while thinking about what was ahead. Her resolve was still strong. She was willing to do what it takes. If she had a chance to back out this was it. But she had no interest in backing out.

* * *

Kurz swung his arms back and forth to loosen his muscles. The daedric armor restricted his movement but it would also keep his limbs from overextending his joints. He picked up the wooden sword and shield and clapped them together loudly. Seated around him were a group of workers in their camp. They were undergoing infantry training. Kurz convinced the instructor to allow him to show the workers some more advanced techniques. Lum was at the work site with the mages. He whipped the sword through the air like it weighed nothing in a crisscross pattern, "Which one of you thinks they can take an Orc? Come on. There's always one in every group of you pink and whiteys."

A solidly built Imperial with long black hair and a short beard stood and brushed the seat of his pants off, "I may not be able to take out _this_ Orc but I can take out _some_ Orcs." He picked up his wooden sword and shield and made his way to Kurz through the group.

"Ha ha! Let's here it for the Imperials! Show these Nords up." Laughs and murmurs stirred up from the workers. "Just stand in front of me for a moment, sir. Now I was watching you guys do the counter attack drills. I see a lot of good things. Mostly your footwork. Never forget that. Everything starts with the feet. If you don't move your feet, you don't have power. Now you want to start thinking about combinations of strikes. This simple one, two, three stuff the infantry teaches you is so that you get the techniques down. But don't step onto the field of battle armed with just that."

He nodded at the Imperial, "You ready? I'm gonna strike overhead and you counter like they was teaching you." Kurz assumed a simple defensive stance with his shield forward and his sword back. The Imperial mirrored him. Kurz charged forward and crashed his shield into his opponent's shield. He then swung the sword down but the Imperial blocked and swiped his sword across the Orc's stomach. The wood made a loud crack sound with the impact but remained whole.

"Good," said Kurz. "Again." Kurz charged as he did last time and the Imperial countered in turn. "Stop! Look at me. Where's my shield?"

"Err... its covering your chest and mouth," replied the Imperial wondering what the penalty was for a wrong answer.

"Right. Where's your sword?"

"To the left of the cuirass," he said with more confidence.

"Right again. Now where's your next target?"

"The head."

"Show me." Kurz charged forward and knocked the Imperial's shield aside, swung down only to be blocked, and the Imperial struck his ribs. Then the Imperial pulled back to attack high. Kurz hooked the rim of his shield behind the cross guard on the Imperials sword and dashed forward. The Orc quickly brought his head down and struck his opponent in the eye. The Imperial staggered back and lost his footing almost falling into the workers who were just as stunned as him.

"Wrong answer," said Kurz. "Come on. You ain't that hurt. Back to your position."

The Imperial's injured eye fluttered for a moment and he stumbled back to where they began. He could feel his brow throbbing. "I think I'm done for today."

"No. No. No! That was to serve as a reminder for this lesson now again." Kurz and the Imperial repeated the same routine until Kurz shouted, "Stop! Where's your next target? What's undefended? What's closest?" Kurz swayed his knee side to side.

"You're knee."

"From the beginning!" Kurz attacked and once again the Imperial countered as before but finished by splintering his wooden sword over the Orc's knee. "There! If that had been a real sword I'd be missing a leg now. Or rather if that had been a real sword and I was wearing some other kind of armor... and asleep."

A stern voice from behind said, "If it weren't for that armor any legionnaire with similar years of experience under his belt would gut you like a fish."

Kurz did not need to turn around to know it was Egnatius. "Too bad your major isn't here cause he's the only one you know that's been at the game as long as me, son." He turned to face Nerva who stood with a practice sword folded in his arms, the blade resting on his shoulder. Dynari was there behind him circling around the assembled crowd.

"I'm here and I'm a bit above average," said Nerva.

"Well maybe you don't want to do that. Last time we got into a tussle the countess gave you a little spanking. We weren't even using weapons then."

"Hiding behind the countess's dress now?" Nerva smiled and shimmied his head a little.

Veins in Kurz's neck and face bulged and his forehead blushed a deeper shade of green. "Okay, jackass, school's in session."

"No armor, no shields; only swords."

The two men began shucking their armor and arranging the pieces into neat piles on the ground. Legionnaires emerged and encircled the workers. Even though the tamping cart was long out of sight the thump from its heavy steel striking plate was heard and felt in the camp like the slow beat of a war drum. Kurz knew it took about fifteen seconds for the tamping cart to raise and release the plate but it seemed faster now. He finally removed his cuirass and looked at Nerva. The soldier was calm and minding his armor. His gambeson looked as if it was laundered every day. Kurz's gambeson reeked horribly, even by Orc standards. He reasoned it might serve as a distraction. After a couple minutes of unlatching and prying they were both ready.

"Woo," Kurz called out. "Does anybody feel a draft out here?"

Nerva lunged and struck low. Kurz, caught unawares, deflected the stroke weakly. Nerva brought is sword around on an arc and struck high. Kurz blocked surely this time and shoved the soldier back. "Only you," said Nerva from a basic stance, his shoulders relaxed and his posture poised.

Kurz grunted and wheeled his sword around to meet Nerva's sword with a loud crack. He back slashed towards the soldier's neck but Nerva parried deftly and jabbed Kurz in the shoulder. Kurz kicked out and caught Nerva in the hip unbalancing him. Kurz skipped to the side and thrust for Nerva's kidney.

Nerva spun and deflected the attack. He brought his sword down on Kurz's wrist using the pivoting of his body to generate more power. The sword fell to the ground, "That's two by my count." He had not yet broken a sweat.

Kurz growled loudly and threw his bare hands around Nerva's waist. He lifted the soldier high into the air and slammed him against the ground. "That's one for me!" bellowed Kurz. He grabbed Nerva by the legs and swung him through the air. Kurz spun twice in place before letting Nerva go sailing through the air. "Now we're even, Egghead. Let's see how easy it is to crack open that cranium."

Nerva, on his back, raised his head and said, "Behind you."

Something struck Kurz in the back of both of his knees. He cried out in shock and fell forward kneeling over. Two swords thrust over each shoulder nearly cutting the sides of his neck and a third was placed sideways on the base of his skull. Steel hands gripped him all over. A legionnaire came into his view on the left with his own ebony war ax held aloft.

"I get to keep this when we're done, right sir?" asked the legionnaire.

"You didn't see them coming, did you fighter?" said Nerva. He pushed himself off the ground and brushed dirt from his clothes. "You see men, infantry training teaches a group of people to fight as one. In the legion you do not fight as if you are alone. And you definitely do not let your passion blind you."

"It was supposed to be a one on one fight, remember?" barked Kurz.

"No such thing for us, fighter. Every engagement is war and war is deception."

"Well sometimes you find yourself alone even though you have an army behind you."

Nerva thought back to his incident with the clannfear in the planes of Oblivion, "True. But when that happens I submit to you the best thing to do is find help, retreat, and if that fails defend yourself."

"So the Legion fights like an army of cowards!" yelled Kurz. The legionnaires restraining him tightened their grip.

"In a manner of speaking... yes. We do. Or you could say we fight to stay alive and accomplish the mission. That is where our pride is at, Kurz. It's not our individual prowess, whether that be finesse with a blade or brute strength. And it isn't a romantic idea of personal honor and dignity. These things are meaningless to us next to performing our duties and serving the empire."

Kurz found him self a little calmer after hearing what Nerva had to say. He did not particularly agree with his perspective but he could respect it. Which, he knew, may have been due in part to how well Nerva fared in the fight. He opened his clenched fists and held his palms outward.

"Let him up," commanded Nerva. "I think we have a shift change soon, people. Let's get back to work."

* * *

It was hard to tell how close to dusk it was because of the forming rain clouds but Spuria knew it was coming soon. She sat on a fallen tree; one that had lived for hundreds of years. Some time, three or four years ago, it had been taken by a storm. But instead of being wasted on paper for the Imperial bureaucracy or for firewood in a Skingrad mansion it was home to moss, flowers, weeds, termites, grubs, and a host of diverse creatures living together in a sustainable community that would thrive if left alone. She had a rucksack beside her full of the clothing and supplies she would need. Chryse was close. Spuria could feel her. Their bond had grown strong over the short time they had known each other. Now she let Chryse go off on her own when they were in the wilderness. She trusted the spriggan more than any person she knew. Chryse, given her beginnings, was the perfect manifestation of Spuria's disgust with the Empire's treatment of the land.

Thunder rolled across the heavens. The air was heavy with moisture and she could feel the electricity of the excited looming clouds above. Things were moving fast; very fast. She hoped that Molag Bal's plan was something special. If it had enough impact it might just shatter any hopes for the White Road. People would die. She knew this. But she was also quite sure it was for the greater good. Clearing and construction was not going to stop with the road. Even now there was talk of a new city to be built. Now was the time.

Her horse neighed and tugged slightly at its reigns. He still had not adjusted to Chryse's presence. Ever so gracefully she emerged from the trees. She had a serious look about her as well.

_The goddess of the heavens weeps. She knows what we intend. She does not wish us luck. Yet even here I feel the suffering of the forest. The slow and deliberate marring of The Great Forest._

Spuria had not made the connection between the coming storm and Kynareth, Aedra of the heavens, winds, elements, and, to the sailors, the guiding stars. She chose not to sit in view of the shrine. They were about twenty yards away. Far enough to hide from any followers that may be worshiping. "We don't need her, do we?"

Chryse shook her leafy head. _We certainly do not need her against us._ _Spuria, I must confide something in you. I fear for your safety tonight. _

"Have you scried a vision?"

_No. I told you as Molag Bal is weak in that power I am even weaker. But I know how the Daedric Lords are. _

"He still needs me. Until he doesn't I think I will be fine."

_That day may be here. You have told me your plan has hurt the Empire. Tonight you fulfill his plan. What else could he need you for? If there is something else, perhaps you will want no part of it._

"You have a point. It is something I shall be wary of. But I still think our success isn't guaranteed even if we accomplish this task. Thank you for your concern, though. It warms my heart." Spuria smiled at her supernatural friend.

_I cannot pretend that my concern is all for you. Should he be done with you then I will be back in his possession. I do not want to go back to that. Ever. I would rather die._

"But what can I do about that?"

_As long as I am bound to this ring and this ring remains in this world he cannot retrieve me._

"I thought you went back to Oblivion when you weren't out here."

_No. I am suspended in limbo. And although I cannot see, hear, feel, or discern the passage of time I can still feel you. I perceive vicariously through you in a removed way through your subconscious mind. It is how I know you are in danger._

"You want me to find someone else to wear the ring if something happens to me. But who?"

Chryse shrugged. _One who is like you. One that shares your sensibilities. But if that is not possible. Bury the ring. Perhaps I will be found by the right mortal. That is how these things work sometimes._

"Really?"

_I hope. _

"Amir says I should become a follower of Azura. He says if I did that she could protect me. I know he can't be trusted but he has an interest in getting me out of Molag Bal's service as soon as possible without killing me."

_I understand what you are thinking and it may be possible but trading one Daedric Lord for another is never a simple thing. Especially if the one you are leaving takes a special interest in you. Amir approaches now. He cannot hear me but I do not wish to see him._

In a flash of red light and black acrid smoke Chryse was gone.

"Was that what I think it was?" asked Amir.

"That was Chryse," replied Spuria. "She has a name and she is a better... entity than you." Amir's attack in Chorrol was still fresh in her mind. So was her nearly successful attempt at killing him.

"Will _she_ be helping you tonight?"

"I trust her more than you."

"Well that isn't a problem for we will be working separately. Do you remember what my master said we would do?"

"I remember him mentioning a goblin tribal war."

"That's right. And in theory it's a simple thing to accomplish." He laid out a rough map on parchment. He indicated all the points of interest with his finger, "Here is the road. This is Fort Carmala. This is the Ayleid ruin of Narfinsel. There are two different tribes at these locations. The road has progressed to a point almost perfectly in between them. The plan is to infiltrate both tribes, steal their totems, and assassinate their shaman. You must do this without being detected. Can you do that?"

Spuria, being the well studied and experienced battle mage, nodded with confidence.

"Good. Now it is really important not to be noticed. It is supremely important not to kill their war chief. It won't be long no matter how stealthy you are before the dead shaman is discovered. Escape quickly with the totem and bring it to the work site. I will find you and take care of the rest. The reason why we don't want to kill the war chief is there must be a leader to organize and mobilize the tribe for war. The chief will automatically assume that the other tribe or the workers are to blame for the killing... as long as you are not caught. The chief will keep them from running out in a rage and march them the next morning towards the other tribe." Amir sat on the log and folded his arms.

She studied the map for a few moments, "You're going to hide the totem staffs at the work site and hope they meet on either side of the laborers."

"Exactly. You will take Narfinsel. It is closer and smaller. I will take Fort Carmala."

* * *

Servantius sipped the bottle of wine he had planned to share with Spuria. They had an arrangement to meet and have dinner but she did not come. It was not the first time it had happened. He thought about grabbing one of the ales he had in his cabinet but decided against it. Instead he stepped outside with the pitcher he used for water. He shared an outside fountain with his neighbors. They were a clean sort so he never minded. The sky had not yet opened its own fountain. Below him people on the streets scurried home quickly. Legionnaire patrols made sure torches were lit and ready for the storm. One of them waved and he returned the gesture.

For some reason he thought about Spuria's suspicion of Motierre. How much she wanted something to be done about the White Road. But what, exactly? She never really said. He thought about how difficult it must be for her to not act on her convictions. She was probably done with service to the Empire. Perhaps it was time he was done as well. Cropsford was just good as place as any to settle down.

* * *

The storm had begun. Angry thunder and brilliant lighting erupted from the heavens. Narfinsel was much like other Ayleid ruins. Remotely located, decrepit, and yet still serviceable as shelter. This one had a large circular structure in front of it. It reminded her of the ruins of a cathedral much like modern Imperial cathedrals with flying buttresses and peaked arches. Spuria was perched high in a tree east of the ruins. She wore a black cloak over black robes. The protection of armor would be more comforting but armor stifled the effects of magic and she would need to rely on her spells for this mission. She had wrapped her elven bow with black ribbons of burlap to keep its gold finish from catching any goblins' eyes. She only carried a dozen arrows. If she needed any more than that, she would be dead.

Using her night vision spell everything was cast in a highly contrasted blue shapes. When lightning flashed she would shut only one eye so that she would not loose all definition in the white flare. Four guards milled about lazily in the rain. Bored with their duties yet compelled to keep roaming in odd intervals around the entrance. Two were archers and the other two were skirmishers. They had two torches lit on top of the entrance but they were careful to keep the light on their backs. Servantius had mentioned this tribe recently. He called them the Heart Crushers. By removing their totem she will do that to them this night, she thought. Satisfied that the only guards were the ones present she decided to get closer.

Carefully she reached down with her foot until a firm branch met her toes. Then she slowly moved down while gripping the soaked trunk with her fingers like a cat. Hand over hand and probing with her feet while always keeping a naked unblinking eye on the entrance. Finally she reached the soft wet ground. The storm which seemed like a bad omen had become quite beneficial. With the howling winds and pattering of fat rain drops through the forest canopy it would be difficult for her to be heard. She moved in a crouch between the trees using their staggered arrangement as a screen. She stopped near a bush with a clear view of the door. Typically the Ayleid gates opened using a welkynd driver, a mechanized magical device that harnessed energy to move objects on a track or with a pulley system. But sometimes the welkynd drivers were worn out and the doors required brute strength to open. The goblins had that; she did not.

Not much time had passed since she left Amir. He said to infiltrate at about ten at night. She hoped that a guard change occurred between then or another opportunity to slip by the guards presented itself. As if on cue she heard the rumbling of an Ayleid gate. One of the guards turned slightly and nodded at three goblins emerging from the ruin. They stomped loudly and bellowed as they stretched. One opened his mouth wide and leaned back to catch the rain drops. The trio of goblins bantered with the guards for a few moments in their chirpy language. The guards made some obscene gestures and the hecklers laughed uproariously. It took a moment for Spuria to notice the trio was moving her way. She looked over her shoulder and found a tree stump thirty feet back that she could hide behind and still see the entrance. She crawled backwards slowly. The gang of goblins took their time shoving each other and laughing. A putrid odor assaulted Spuria's nose. The further back she moved the worse it got. But the goblins kept moving in her direction.

The goblins stopped and quieted down. There were several bushes obscuring her view of them but she could still make out their basic shape. They seemed to be searching for something on the ground. One of them took a big exaggerated step over some obstacle and chortled towards the others. The pair nodded and went looking on their own path. Then she heard buckles being unfastened. _What are they doing_, she thought. A loud fart emanated from her right followed by a long sigh. _Dear gods! I'm crawling around in their latrine! _That one fart led to a cascade of wet gassy sputtering noises. The goblins groaned and grunted with the exertion. It went on for more than two minutes. Disgusting fecal stench wafted over her and she wanted to wretch. Finally the onslaught stopped. The goblins ripped leaves off of trees to clean themselves. She was sure they would go away soon.

But the goblins started laughing again. There was shuffling about. Then a goblin broke free of a clearing and ran across Spuria's line of sight. He jumped into another bush. Something struck her in the shoulder. It was poop. What did goblins do when they got bored on a rainy day? Now Spuria knew they flung their poop at each other. One of the chortling goblins pointed at the guards. The others nodded. He wound up his throwing arm and let a goblin pie go sailing in the air. It smacked a pillar close to a skirmisher and slid down the white stone. The guards barked and screeched. It was all the goblins close to her could do to keep from falling into the fetid ground. A whistle sounded through the air and the goblins jumped away. One of the archers had climbed on top of the ruins and shot an arrow at them. The goblins bowed their heads and made their way back.

Thoroughly disgusted Spuria rushed out of their as fast as she dared using the foliage for cover. She found a tree near an outcropping to the right of the door. She would be dangerously close to the goblins but they would have to look very hard to see her, which she hoped was unlikely because of their desire to keep from looking at the fire.

Some time had passed. Spuria could not say how much. The archer who had taken a position above the door returned to the ground with the others. Spuria breathed softly through her nostrils while he lumbered past her. She could hear the raindrops strike his crude iron and leather armor. The guards stood around a little more loosely. They talked in brief quiet exchanges.

Stone ground against stone and the wall Spuria leaned against shook. More goblin tongues joined the discussion. She imagined for a second what it would be like if they were having a mundane conversation like one heard from city guards. _Thank the nine you're here. It's been raining all night and my feet are tired. Watch out for the poop flingers._ Spuria squatted low and eased her hooded face around the edge of the outcropping. They were all standing in the center of the cathedral structure. It was time to go. She slipped her hand into a pouch and pulled out a ring with a strong chameleon enchantment. Stalking was always her preferred way of taking people by surprise because most people got sloppy with chameleon spells. Eventually they would not mind where they went and end up standing somewhere in the open where the light would reveal their shape. But tonight she would need it. Ayleid ruins had all kinds of sources of light. Magical crystals, torches, welkynd stones, and various other things. If she stuck to the walls she should seem invisible enough. She slipped the ring on and watched her hand turn into a translucent shadow of itself. She waved her hand over the ground and it rippled unnaturally.

Spuria crawled cat like on the ground with only the tips of her fingers, the balls of her feet, and her chest touching the ground. She kept her eye on the eight guards just a stone's throw away. When she reached the steps she went slower past the spiked skulls that marked any goblin base. Using one hand to help her up and the other to keep her short sword from brushing against anything, she eased forward. The entrance immediately led to a set of stairs downward. They were slick with moisture. To her left was the activation rune for the door. She wondered where it was outside. Down below there was a landing lit by the glowing white crystals the Ayleids used in their chandeliers. The landing curved around and she could not see beyond that point. She was almost down the steps when she heard the goblins returning. She hurried around the turn. There was a hall about twenty five feet long. Some light from the landing reflected off the white stone so she moved further ahead. The hall turned right. At the corner the hall widened. She flattened herself against the right side of the opening. It was darker here and she wanted the guards to move past her so she was not pressured to keep moving into blind corners.

A moment later the retiring guards walked by. They held their weapons low. One archer had his quiver off and carried it like a purse by its strap. Another started to sniff the air. Spuria feared he smelled her but then the smokey scent of burnt meat filled her nostrils. It was dinner time. She caught a glimpse of their tribal symbol. It was a goblin hand squeezing a heart. Not one of the romantic hearts people adorned their charms and love letters with but a bulging mass of bleeding muscle.

Spuria was doubly glad she let them pass. A few paces more and the goblins set off a large panic among the rats. Goblins kept rats in pens and it was obvious they were in that area now. Further down she saw torch light. A goblin called out and three more came into view where the torches were. They stopped and began to converse. Spuria crept forward. A rat pen was directly to her left in a little nook. The things continued to screech but she doubted it was at her. She recognized that the rat pens and the guard post were in a hall grid. Ayleid's utilized these grids for perhaps many purposes but only one was clear. In a large ruin the grid would have traps. Traps that still worked as good as new two thousand years later. But this seemed to only be a grid of two halls. Some had grids of sixteen. The worst had grids upward of fifty. Those required much caution and experience. A frequent site for well seasoned dungeon divers was an amateur laying dead in some obscure location having failed to find a safe path through or back.

She crossed to the other end of the grid. The rats continued to screech which was fine with her. It was more noise to cover her movements. At the corner she saw two more goblins standing in an intersection of iron gates. The iron work was shaped like limbs of saplings stretching to the sky. The gates were open. These two goblins' attentions were focused on the group in the corner opposite of her. Beyond the gates she heard harsh rabble rousing. The two creatures in her view finally were so caught up in the discussion that they left their post. Spuria nearly leapt down the grid. She knew she didn't have much time. As she exited the grid she saw one of the guards pantomiming the fecal attack from earlier.

Ahead of her at the intersection she could clearly see a dining hall. Goblins chewed insatiably at burnt rat that wasn't completely skinned. They barked, hissed, and laughed as they washed their foul meal down with stale beer they probably raided.

To the right was a massive long chamber. Stone obelisks with empty cradles for welkynd stones flanked a central walk way. A pale white mist glowed at knee level. She could see many bed rolls and cots arranged very closely. Goblins wheezed and snored. If she had to go through there she was in trouble. There was too much light. To the left was another chamber. She couldn't see much of it.

Something in her peripheral vision caused her alarm. She grasped her scabbard and turned to the dinning hall. It was the war chief, it had to be. He stood almost nine feet tall with his back to her at the head of a table. His armor looked like an ancient bronze dwemer suit, still in good repair. He swung his arms wide telling some kind of story.

Spuria ducked into the chamber on the left. It was dark and still. There was a dividing wall jutting out of the side of the chamber. Where the wall ended abruptly a crude barricade of hastily chopped and bound oak began. She realized the goblins must have found a trap. It was not apparent what the trap was. There were no spikes on the ceiling or holes in the floor. There were some whole skeletons in the center but they were largely intact. She moved around the barricade staying close to the wall. One of the pillars holding the room up had collapsed she had to climb over it.

A squeal chilled her heart. Then she heard it again. Beyond the trap was a passage to another chamber. The light in there was dim. She pushed forward for a better view. At the opening of the chamber she saw the two things she was here for; the totem and the shaman. The shaman stood above a pink belly pig with a dagger in both hands pointed towards the ceiling. Spuria noticed that one of the Alyeid crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling but cloth was wrapped around it. Only the torchlight at the altar illuminated the room. The shaman spoke an incantation in dramatic fashion then abruptly plunged the dagger into the pig. Spuria thought the goblin had missed her mark but then realized she was gutting the pig alive. It squealed in agony but its bindings kept it from moving much. Just as abruptly it stopped. The shaman deposited a fresh heart into a wooden bowl. It said another incantation and went about dissecting the pig in a much calmer manner.

A mess of crates occupied the corner nearest to Spuria. She found a place in there to hide. The totem was mounted in a shrine on the wall opposite of her. The shrine was an archaic carving. It poorly imitated the ribcage of a man. In the sternum was the totem. Which in itself was quite unique. The wood was smooth and not knotty. It was lacquered a deep red. In the top was a black soul gem, its obsidian finish gleaming in the torchlight. Spuria knew they must have stolen it from somewhere. They did not have the sophisticated magical ingenuity it took to make such a staff.

The shaman had set a large bowl on the ground and carefully pulled the pig's intestines out winding it in a neat coil. She stopped before she was finished and stared at the chamber entrance with the pale bloody rope in her clawed hands. She looked like she was about to say something. Hairs on the back of Spuria's neck stood on end and her spine felt electrified. She was terrified to look herself. But she did not have to. A red flash flared and she knew Chryse was there. The shaman pressed herself against the altar and toppled over a couple harvested organs.

Spuria snapped her head back to gauge the situation. Chryse was there and she had ensnared three goblins in a small jungle of vines that had sprouted from her forearms. The spriggan was also growing in size. She heard a clatter. The shaman dashed towards the totem staff. Spuria sprinted after her. She arrived just in time to catch the shaman leveling the staff at Chryse. The goblin noticed the wavering of light to her left and pointed it in Spuria's direction. Spuria slashed upward and severed two of the goblin's fingers. She stabbed down and sunk her blade two feet in between the creature's collar bone. The shaman looked in disbelief at the translucent sword sticking completely through her chest. The view inside the wound was deep. Spuria drew the blade out of her enemy and she fell into a pile dead.

Chryse's eyes glowed red. She was using the same curse she had used on Spuria. Instead of the feminine figure the spriggan usually assumed she now resembled an ogre. Her figure was hulking. The vines that wrapped around her victims were thick.

Spuria grabbed the totem and quickly wrapped it in a ratty blanket lying near a chair in the corner, "Chryse, we don't have the time. End it!" she hissed.

Arrow tip sized thorns emerged from the vines. Before the goblins could express this new agony in screams Chryse heaved all the vines into the air. And with them came hunks of flesh and streams of dark blood. The gory muck slapped against the floors, walls, and ceiling. She had flayed all three of them in a split second. Their skin was near completely gone from their bodies and so was a large amount of muscle. Bones were visible and just as stark as the petrified expressions left on their faces. The one that landed closest to Spuria had the majority of his face missing. Chryse morphed back into her usual form.

Spuria froze with shock. She had witnessed an abundance of violence in her life but nothing as extreme as that. Sometimes it was hard to think of Chryse as daedra. Now in this moment she could not imagine her friend to be anything but a child of Molag Bal. Chryse disappeared back into the ring. Spuria looked down at the totem. The chameleon enchantment was already working on it. It soon faded into the rest of her camouflage.

After using some loose twine as a sling for the staff she loped as gently as possible out of the shaman's chamber. At the far end of the adjoining chamber a guard stood with his arms crossed. Spuria did not know or cared to speculate on what he waited for. She stayed hidden in the shadows and crept behind him. At once she wrapped her left arm around his wide mouth and stabbed him through the back with the other with her sword. She set the dying body down in the corner. The noise from the dining hall masked the scraping of mail against the stone floor.

At the intersection the guards that had left their post were still gone. She entered the grid. They were not visiting the other guards. Instead they were in one of the pens trying to catch a rat. The rodents squeaked, clawed, and bit for their lives. The goblins cursed them and scrambled about in the waste to corner their quarry. Spuria slipped by them and made for the exit.

A quick jab to the glowing cyan rune sent the door grinding open. The two halves parted to reveal the outside world. She was almost there. Then she realized her mistake. The guards looked suspiciously at the open door. An archer warily pulled an arrow from his quiver. As she thought before, chameleon spells make people sloppy. Spuria yanked the enchanted ring off with her teeth. The goblins jumped in surprise. Spuria thrust her hand out and sent a blue-white bolt of lightning arching into the archer. His skin glowed bright green then arcs of electricity sprung from him and fried his companions.

Spuria was done with this mission. Amir may not like the way she accomplished it but she did not care. She kicked around the foliage near the entrance and found the rune to shut the door. Agonizing pain shot through her right arm. She was knocked into the stone wall and slid down it. She rolled over in the mud. A goblin swung a mace down at her. She kicked at his foot and leaned on her side to avoid the blow. It splashed into the marshy ground with a thud. Her sword was tangled in her clothes and pinned underneath her. She rolled back over in time to grab the mace before its wielder could retract it from the ground. The goblin tugged hard and lifted her entire body off the ground sending it down the slope towards the arches. Her sword was free but her right arm would not reach across her body. Instead she grabbed it from the scabbard on her left hip with her left hand and tossed it into the air. The goblin ran straight for her. Using her telekinetic powers she seized the sword and righted it towards her attacker. Then she shoved it through the air into his chest knocking him on his back.

Air came in ragged gasps and did not seem enough. She rolled up the sleeve of her robe to inspect her injured arm. It was deeply bruised in between her elbow and shoulder. If it was not broken it would be a miracle. The stone door rumbled. Without another thought she fled back to where her horse was tied.

* * *

Servantius was drunk. He concentrated very hard on keeping a constant measured distance from the curb yet not appear to be watching his footing. It was the only way to keep from staggering around. He also prepared himself to keep his feelings in check. There was no point in throwing a drunken tantrum. That never helped anyone. But he could not deny his feelings on the matter. They were so jumbled up he could not straiten them out on his own.

He passed the second patrol since leaving his home. Because he was out of uniform he did not have to return their salute. A simple confident nod sent them on their way. His steps caused tiny splashes in the little pools of water here and there. He was glad he was not going to be on patrol the next morning. The heat from the sun once it surmounted the outer walls this time of year was terrific. One could steam rice on the cobble stones. In normal clothes it was very uncomfortable. In armor it was near torture.

He shook his head to focus his thoughts. Spuria. What did she want from the Empire? What did she want from work? What did she want from him? He felt if he knew these things his heart would be in less turmoil. For as much time as they shared she was very closed off. Typically that is how he liked it. A female companion that could take care of herself and her own feelings. But he was getting older and that way of living did not seem right anymore. As far as Spuria was concerned he was not sure she could take care of her feelings. She needed help.

Servantius stopped. Spuria's house was fifty yards behind him. Lost in his thoughts he had passed it. He trotted back to the door and tried to recall her house maid's name before giving the iron knocker three firm bangs. The door opened and he smiled, "Lenore, I'm sorry for disturbing you so late. May I see Spuria?"

"It's Lenosha," she replied. Servantius cringed inwardly. "The lady of the house is not in." Lenosha was an Altmer and taller than Servantius by a head. Her hair was blond hair bundled under a wrap. Her dress was black yet more utilitarian than a normal maid's uniform.

"I'm sorry Lenosha. May I come in?" He was conscious of his alcohol tainted breath.

She thought for a moment and opened the door wider to let him in. "What can I do for you, Major?"

"Please, just Servantius." The thought that his proper name was twice as long as his rank was not lost on him. Nor was the tendency of his brain to wonder aimlessly while intoxicated. He put on a serious face, "You live more closely with Spuria than I do, my lady. Are you worried about her?"

Her eyes shimmered, "Yes sir. Yes I am. For a long time it has been so. Her demeanor is depressing. She broods endlessly during the week. Only when she returns from her trips to the wilderness does she seem at peace. But that quickly vanishes the next morning she goes to the palace."

"We were supposed to meet tonight."

"She forgets many things these days. I have to remind her of things as a matter of habit. If I knew of your meeting I would have said something."

"It is all right, Lenore... er, Lenosha. Did she go to The Great Forest this evening?"

"Yes. I should say she left work early today to pack. She stays out there even in this sort of weather. I worry relentlessly until she returns. It's not safe."

"Does she ever talk about things like her job, Chancelor Ocato, or the new road with you?"

Lenosha shied away from the question.

"Lenosha, I'm not wanting to cause you trouble. I just want to help the woman I love."

"She does not speak to me much anymore. But that doesn't bother me as much as the ring she obsesses over."

"What ring?"

"She wears it on her left hand. It is bronze with a green gem. Every time I see her without her knowing she stares at it. She even pets the thing. She never takes it off yet since I have known her she hates to sleep with jewelry on." Lenosha looked to the ceiling and sighed, "My magic training did not extend far beyond early years. Circumstances... just did not permit it. But I do feel an odd tinge from the ring. I cannot place it... I cannot rule out that I am imagining it. Yet I think it is there."

Her words troubled Servantius deeply. He thought on them for a long moment. "You believe this ring has power over her?"

"I cannot say for sure," she replied meekly.

Servantius rubbed his head and tried to think through the haze of his inebriation. "Alright... just tell her I was here and wanted to talk with her."

* * *

Amir waited south of the work site far enough away to avoid the guards. He was a little nervous. Spuria was not late but she was not early. Something could have gone wrong. He wondered how long he should wait before going to make sure she accomplished the mission. The rain had let up. That was good. There would be much fog in the morning. That would obscure the legion's view as they were attacked on both sides.

He smiled. It would be a glorious thing to watch, he thought. His thoughts wondered back to Spuria. What now for her? What would be his master's next wish? If this worked and the road was stopped what was her worth? A lot, he had to admit. She proved herself mentally capable when she devised the strategy of slowing the purchases of the bonds. She would prove herself physically capable if she prevailed tonight. And she held high office. But she was not devoted to Molag Bal spiritually. The daedra were practical, in their own way, he knew. What he did not know was how far his master would overlook this loyalty factor to continue her service. Perhaps, he reasoned, it would be smart to gain her trust.

Down below he heard the cantering of horse hooves on soft ground. They stopped. Amir lit a small lamp and went deeper into the woods. It was Spuria. She had the totem. But that was not all. "By Molag Bal's bollocks," he said. "What in oblivion happened?" She was covered in blood and mud. It shone with a brown hue in the lamp light. What stuck to her face, neck, and hands was thick and clotted.

"Things got messy but the job got done," she replied.

"How messy?" he demanded. He noticed her arm was cradled against her side.

She merely pointed at her blood soaked garb in response.

"Were you seen?"

"Not by anything still living."

"Oh, damn it woman! How many did you kill? They won't march if they are too far under strength."

"Well, there was the shaman and the goblins serving her dinner. I had to kill a sentry. And then outside I had to take out the guards. That's nine or ten."

"Nine? Your boyfriend's man in charge slew two scores of that same tribe not long ago."

"They're coming," she said stiffly. "Now do you want to take this thing or not." She pulled back the blanket covering the totem.

He grabbed it from her, "Yes, I'll take it. Now you better come up with a plan to get rid of those clothes and clean yourself. Messy jobs leave tracks. There's more than enough pointing to me. I fear you may now have some pointing to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't the time to explain. Get clean and burn those clothes. Then, and only then, return to the city."

"If anyone has taken notice they know I leave for the Great Forest very routinely."

"That's wonderful, but where's your fancy sword?" said Amir.


End file.
